<?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' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287</id><updated>2012-02-15T22:33:42.571-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tranquility</title><subtitle type='html'>Thats all that we seek _ tranquility _ the still water _ in the storm of our lives_ and in here in a few words _ are the chronicles of an angel's life_ i do not preach_ i am not a teacher _ nor am i a leader _ who am i _ i am you _</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-1057371376653945498</id><published>2011-11-01T12:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-11-01T12:34:36.598-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Return</title><content type='html'>After several days , just turned up at my blog ..... just.. simply ..... I do feel the urge to write once in a while ..... have to .....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-1057371376653945498?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/1057371376653945498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=1057371376653945498' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/1057371376653945498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/1057371376653945498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2011/11/return.html' title='Return'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-2605938222274675167</id><published>2010-05-21T23:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-21T23:58:00.181-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When Boundaries Fade, Differences don't matter...</title><content type='html'>Music is an element of life. It is a part of nature . Music can only make a person feel good or feel human. It transforms us in a way that nothing else can. I found this video , during one of my sojourns into the wide web...... I heard this song first on a cassette on my National Tape Player. Yes , it is indeed of an era before . Before , MP3, IPOD and even the web. And still , this is Rahman's BEST.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nothing more to be said. Just watch it .&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Youtube Link : &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DiI1va3WdA"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DiI1va3WdA&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hari &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-2605938222274675167?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/2605938222274675167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=2605938222274675167' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/2605938222274675167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/2605938222274675167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2010/05/when-boundaries-fade-differences-dont.html' title='When Boundaries Fade, Differences don&apos;t matter...'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-624709788761281475</id><published>2008-04-29T08:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T08:47:02.038-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Greatest Game ever</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.grandtheftauto-gta.com/gtaIV.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://www.grandtheftauto-gta.com/gtaIV.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The greatest game ever , has been released today . April 29th,2008.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Theft_Auto_IV"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;a class="l" onmousedown="return clk(this.href,'','','res','2','')"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Grand Theft Auto IV&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.rockstargames.com/IV/"&gt;Official Site&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.gta4.net/news/index.php"&gt;Best resource on GTA IV&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://c.movies.teamxbox.com/xbox360/gta4/gta4_3291hd.wmv"&gt;HD Trailer&lt;/a&gt; : Must watch for fans&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Game intro : &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtCvAd1Aan4"&gt;Youtube&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-624709788761281475?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/624709788761281475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=624709788761281475' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/624709788761281475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/624709788761281475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2008/04/greatest-game-ever.html' title='Greatest Game ever'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-2150703896416035346</id><published>2008-04-29T06:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T06:51:43.836-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Portal : End Credits Song</title><content type='html'>Let me start with an apology to those who are not PC Game nerds.This piece wont make any sense to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a very nice PC game released by &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valve_software"&gt;Valve Software&lt;/a&gt; called &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portal_%28video_game%29"&gt;Portal.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really cool one for being a fresh whiff of air. The end credits has a nice song called "Still Alive" by&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.jonathancoulton.com/primer"&gt;Jonathan Coulton&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What got my attention was the lyrics.Anyone who has played &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Half-Life_%28series%29"&gt;Half-life&lt;/a&gt; will thoroughly enjoy it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch it here: &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RthZgszykLs"&gt;Youtube link&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyrics go here:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;  This was a triumph.&lt;br /&gt; I'm making a note here:&lt;br /&gt; HUGE SUCCESS.&lt;br /&gt; It's hard to overstate&lt;br /&gt; my satisfaction.&lt;br /&gt; Aperture Science&lt;br /&gt; We do what we must&lt;br /&gt; because we can.&lt;br /&gt; For the good of all of us.&lt;br /&gt; Except the ones who are dead.&lt;br /&gt; But there's no sense crying&lt;br /&gt; over every mistake.&lt;br /&gt; You just keep on trying&lt;br /&gt; till you run out of cake.&lt;br /&gt; And the Science gets done.&lt;br /&gt; And you make a neat gun.&lt;br /&gt; For the people who are&lt;br /&gt; still alive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I'm not even angry.&lt;br /&gt; I'm being so sincere right now.&lt;br /&gt; Even though you broke my heart.&lt;br /&gt; And killed me.&lt;br /&gt; And tore me to pieces.&lt;br /&gt; And threw every piece into a fire.&lt;br /&gt; As they burned it hurt because&lt;br /&gt; I was so happy for you!&lt;br /&gt; Now these points of data&lt;br /&gt; make a beautiful line.&lt;br /&gt; And we're out of beta.&lt;br /&gt; We're releasing on time.&lt;br /&gt; So I'm GLaD. I got burned.&lt;br /&gt; Think of all the things we learned&lt;br /&gt; for the people who are&lt;br /&gt; still alive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Go ahead and leave me.&lt;br /&gt; I think i prefer to stay inside.&lt;br /&gt; maybe you'll find someone else&lt;br /&gt; to help you.&lt;br /&gt; maybe Black Mesa...&lt;br /&gt; THAT WAS A JOKE, HA HA, FAT CHANCE.&lt;br /&gt; Anyway this cake is great.&lt;br /&gt; It's so delicious and moist&lt;br /&gt; look at me still talking when theres science to do&lt;br /&gt; when i look out there&lt;br /&gt; it makes me glad I'm not you&lt;br /&gt; i've experiments to run&lt;br /&gt; there is research to be done&lt;br /&gt; on the people who are&lt;br /&gt; still alive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; and believe me I am still alive&lt;br /&gt; I'm doing science and I'm still alive&lt;br /&gt; i feel fantastic and I'm still alive&lt;br /&gt; while your dying ill be still alive&lt;br /&gt; and when your dead i will be still alive&lt;br /&gt; still alive&lt;br /&gt; still alive&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-2150703896416035346?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/2150703896416035346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=2150703896416035346' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/2150703896416035346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/2150703896416035346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2008/04/portal-end-credits-song.html' title='Portal : End Credits Song'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-40152962716133937</id><published>2008-04-22T00:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-22T00:56:27.304-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Greatest Movie Scenes : 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-size:180%;" &gt;&lt;a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0112573/"&gt;Braveheart (1995)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Wiki: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Braveheart"&gt;Braveheart&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;The Execution Scene&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-fN9w7vq2w"&gt;Youtube Video&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;The greatest scenes need not come from the greatest movies . Braveheart wont make it to my &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/10/21-movies-young-adults-must-watch-part_15.html"&gt;must-watch movies list&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;. But there is something about this scene. If you havent watched this movie,the passion this man lives for, wont make any sense to you. For those who have watched it , just see this again. (Spoiler alert!) To summon the last breath in one's body to yell out ,"Freeeeeddooommmm!!!".Now, if thats not inspiring ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-40152962716133937?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/40152962716133937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=40152962716133937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/40152962716133937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/40152962716133937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2008/04/greatest-movie-scenes-1.html' title='The Greatest Movie Scenes : 1'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-5916953597820580592</id><published>2008-04-07T08:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-07T08:18:14.173-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Crying Boy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R_o7KlTIQuI/AAAAAAAAAD0/15cEhODyS4E/s1600-h/Beaten_boy_crying.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R_o7KlTIQuI/AAAAAAAAAD0/15cEhODyS4E/s400/Beaten_boy_crying.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186522973867623138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;I used to complain that i had no shoes, till i met a man who had no feet.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-5916953597820580592?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/5916953597820580592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=5916953597820580592' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/5916953597820580592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/5916953597820580592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2008/04/crying-boy.html' title='The Crying Boy'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R_o7KlTIQuI/AAAAAAAAAD0/15cEhODyS4E/s72-c/Beaten_boy_crying.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-6523272553018963425</id><published>2008-03-24T18:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-24T18:40:55.014-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I did say i'll be back...didn't I ? a.k.a the return of the prodigal son</title><content type='html'>Its okay ,people. Your favourite , young , dynamic, 'Don Quixote' of blogging is back... and better than ever, i suppose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm, been on a hiatus , people. A self-imposed one. We, creatures of imagination need these...once in a while . Just to keep ourselves happy , and make us feel important.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why shouldn't I write more often ? Of course I should . I am good with this , ain't  I  ? In fact, I am so damn good that in some cultures I would be considered as God and worshiped devotedly for these enviable talents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have so much to tell , people . Its been raining this and last week . I like rain. It enriches my already wealthy imagination. And I have appointed myself as a Collector of Various Media for mankind this past weekend. Can call me a sort of connoisseur, if u like .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More of this later , people . Got to run now .Got places to go, things to do,stuff to eat and likewise . See you later , folks . Take Care&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-6523272553018963425?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/6523272553018963425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=6523272553018963425' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/6523272553018963425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/6523272553018963425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-did-say-ill-be-backdidnt-i-aka-return.html' title='I did say i&apos;ll be back...didn&apos;t I ? a.k.a the return of the prodigal son'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-3344732341920584337</id><published>2008-01-21T10:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T12:53:24.998-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To the little yellow flower</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R5Tq7b4I7mI/AAAAAAAAADc/tt78Klmt2H4/s1600-h/yellow+flower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R5Tq7b4I7mI/AAAAAAAAADc/tt78Klmt2H4/s400/yellow+flower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158005780062465634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the lone wolf wandered over the wilderness .&lt;br /&gt;a maverick learns to appreciate the solitude , the wilderness draws him to its charms&lt;br /&gt;the fresh air fills life in him , the clear skies cheers the heart&lt;br /&gt;the tranquil lake , the gentle rain , chirp of the crickets  , the rainbow over the horizon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the lord was definitely an artist , he thought&lt;br /&gt;in his canvas spawn an infinity of colors&lt;br /&gt;and then he saw the most beautiful thing on earth -&lt;br /&gt;he saw the little yellow flower&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;his heart overwhelmed at her sight&lt;br /&gt;and her smile - she always smiled&lt;br /&gt;it was a smile tinged in melancholy&lt;br /&gt;and a more sincere smile he had never seen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the way she murmered to the winds&lt;br /&gt;and danced gently swaying with them&lt;br /&gt;she loved the meadow just as he did&lt;br /&gt;and he loved watching her be happy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;she could talk for hours and he loved to hear&lt;br /&gt;his eyes replied , more than his words&lt;br /&gt;they knew they had fallen for each other&lt;br /&gt;but words just lost their power&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it is true that the simpler pleasures define the joy of life&lt;br /&gt;the little wonders , the twists and turns of fate&lt;br /&gt;our lives are made in these small hours&lt;br /&gt;and in the early hours of a winter  morning , they told their love .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-3344732341920584337?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/3344732341920584337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=3344732341920584337' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/3344732341920584337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/3344732341920584337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2008/01/to-little-yellow-flower.html' title='To the little yellow flower'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R5Tq7b4I7mI/AAAAAAAAADc/tt78Klmt2H4/s72-c/yellow+flower.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-8998495802020222594</id><published>2007-12-11T07:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-11T07:32:47.646-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To the guy upstairs and to the guy inside .....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R16skqCnKrI/AAAAAAAAADU/38tklJyZ2MQ/s1600-h/pic.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R16skqCnKrI/AAAAAAAAADU/38tklJyZ2MQ/s400/pic.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142737570264197810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think its funny , dude ? You find it amusing , eh ?  I just wanted to know . I know that you are up there , watching over me all the time . You are inside  me too , listening to me all the time . Really , dude! What the fuck is wrong with you ? You're never quite done with me , are you ?  Every time you HAVE to pull me right back in  .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its only because I never quite understand you . And I had to ask.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-8998495802020222594?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/8998495802020222594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=8998495802020222594' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/8998495802020222594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/8998495802020222594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/12/to-guy-upstairs-and-to-guy-inside.html' title='To the guy upstairs and to the guy inside .....'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/R16skqCnKrI/AAAAAAAAADU/38tklJyZ2MQ/s72-c/pic.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-9050342213460815968</id><published>2007-11-19T21:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-19T21:44:54.818-08:00</updated><title type='text'>10 Days that I didn't touch her</title><content type='html'>It had been 10 days .... I couldnt believe myself. For 10 days I hadn't even spared a thought about her . Never thought it was possible  . Well , all the things a nice trip can do to a guy ! Back from the trip , one look at her and I knew she wasn't herself . Something was wrong . I was really tired that evening . Didnt even stop to talk to her , had my supper and hit the bed straight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next morning , I was running really late (as usual) . No time for chit-chat . Any more delay and I would lose the attendance for the first hour (as if that were something new :) ) . &lt;br /&gt;I tell her, "Come honey, we're late. Let's go" .&lt;br /&gt;She replies with a cold stare as if to say , " Who's your honey, weirdo ? "&lt;br /&gt;"Dont do this to me , baby...not now..."&lt;br /&gt;"Hmmmpphh! Keep your hands off me, you moron! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really dont know how long the stand-off lasted and how i pleaded with her. More than the soothing words and the sweet promises i murmured to her , the sad desperate look on my face did the trick. Sensible girl, she is  ! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to college and our usual routine . We go to college together everyday . On sunday we went on a little trip of our own - just the two of us . And its happily-ever-after ......so far till now. ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plain speak : I had been on a college trip for 10 days  in October . It was raining cats and dogs in Trivandrum ,  meantime. When I came back , Uni's engine had gone cold . Next morning , as usual I start from home at 9.00 a.m and the bike wont start no matter what. Gave choke and atleast 20 kicks on the starter to warm her up . It was a cold day and the engine sounded funny all day .In weekend did some minor service , took her to the fuel station and went for a scorching ride in the highway. She's back to her smooth self .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-9050342213460815968?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/9050342213460815968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=9050342213460815968' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/9050342213460815968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/9050342213460815968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/11/10-days-that-i-didnt-touch-her.html' title='10 Days that I didn&apos;t touch her'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-5011964167177091852</id><published>2007-10-15T13:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-15T13:24:22.180-07:00</updated><title type='text'>21 Movies young adults must watch : Part 2</title><content type='html'>Part 1 Goes &lt;a href="http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/10/21-movies-young-adults-must-watch-part.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Part 2 : &lt;a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0268978/"&gt;A Beautiful Mind &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; (2001)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ron Howard / Akiva Goldsman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/RxPJKA9Sk6I/AAAAAAAAADM/2dGzf89HhT4/s1600-h/Abeautifulmindposter.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/RxPJKA9Sk6I/AAAAAAAAADM/2dGzf89HhT4/s400/Abeautifulmindposter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121658375143330722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wiki : &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Beautiful_Mind_%28film%29"&gt;A Beautiful Mind&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;blockquote&gt;Each man does what is best for himself and his group.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Applicable in governing dynamics and game theory. Also applicable elsewhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Believe in numbers, they'll teach you everything, except life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. John Nash : &lt;blockquote&gt;True explanation of life lies in the mysterious equations of love.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. It is difficult to reason yourself out of a problem, when the problem is with your mind in the first place . Difficult , but not quite impossible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;blockquote&gt;True love is your reason, it is all your reasons.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.Everyday is a new day, never quit trying. Never!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. True appreciation of life starts with the simpler things...the really simpler things like Star gazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. For any given problem , in life or integral calculus there are different ways to achieve solution.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. What is real or unreal is not as important as what you believe. For starters - truly believe in oneself and love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-5011964167177091852?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/5011964167177091852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=5011964167177091852' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/5011964167177091852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/5011964167177091852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/10/21-movies-young-adults-must-watch-part_15.html' title='21 Movies young adults must watch : Part 2'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/RxPJKA9Sk6I/AAAAAAAAADM/2dGzf89HhT4/s72-c/Abeautifulmindposter.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-1691135549251934588</id><published>2007-10-14T08:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-14T09:38:04.016-07:00</updated><title type='text'>21 Movies young adults must watch : Part 1</title><content type='html'>A movie is just another way of story-telling. I am listing these 21 movies here because they have all taught me something . Some tell lessons on life , some philosophize and some just make one think . You may have seen many of them and learned different lessons for yourselves . And for the uninitiated, I assure , they are all very worth watching ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Part 1:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0068646/"&gt;Godfather &lt;/a&gt;(1972) and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0071562/"&gt;Godfather Part II&lt;/a&gt; (1974)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mario Puzo / Francis Ford Coppola&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/RxJB6g9Sk4I/AAAAAAAAAC8/Yy9nmai2sM0/s1600-h/godfather+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/RxJB6g9Sk4I/AAAAAAAAAC8/Yy9nmai2sM0/s400/godfather+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121228199808897922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/RxJB6g9Sk5I/AAAAAAAAADE/uIVbhxdyBZo/s1600-h/godfather+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/RxJB6g9Sk5I/AAAAAAAAADE/uIVbhxdyBZo/s400/godfather+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121228199808897938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wiki : &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Godfather"&gt;Godfather&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Godfather_Part_II"&gt;Godfather Part II&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) &lt;blockquote&gt;Vito Corleone : Each man has but one destiny&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;2)  Priorities in Life (in order)&lt;br /&gt;a. Absolute uncompromising love for the family.&lt;br /&gt;b. Loyalty and friendship&lt;br /&gt;c. Principles , Truth&lt;br /&gt;d. Anything that we truly desire as destiny - career, wealth, power etc&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) All institutions (the well organised ones, that is ) need buffers . Ideally atleast 3 levels of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Never utter a word of threat - it is a foolish and compromising display of anger and hate. Do it, dont say it .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) &lt;blockquote&gt;Haygen : " Its not personal, its business"&lt;br /&gt;Michael : " Dont let them kid you Tom. Its all personal , every bit of business , everywhere "&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) Sincerity and honesty in actions mark true greatness of a man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) Never display your true emotions to a foe . Smile is the best weapon . Both Michael and Vito are famous for chilling smiles - smiles that you fear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) Do not fear death. Life is inexplicably beautiful and indeterminably short to worry about death. If you can die saying , " Life is beautiful !" , what more would you want ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) Show death some respect ! Do not philosophize on it .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) Something in life are better left unsaid. &lt;blockquote&gt;If you know'em , just go ahead and do . Dont wait to say.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11) What goes around, comes around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12) &lt;blockquote&gt;Keep your friends close , but your enemies closer&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-1691135549251934588?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/1691135549251934588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=1691135549251934588' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/1691135549251934588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/1691135549251934588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/10/21-movies-young-adults-must-watch-part.html' title='21 Movies young adults must watch : Part 1'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/RxJB6g9Sk4I/AAAAAAAAAC8/Yy9nmai2sM0/s72-c/godfather+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-1948934004559954086</id><published>2007-10-11T06:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T11:19:40.756-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Riding with the wind  : Part 2</title><content type='html'>Part 1 is  &lt;a href="http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/03/riding-with-wind.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Please note : The author does not encourage or endorse breaking the speed limit restrictions in your city. Use your head while driving . Drive within your own limits and that of your machine . If you fall from your bike , there's always a chance that you may never get up again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/Rw4rpoEcNbI/AAAAAAAAACU/5CLdkI1lDwo/s1600-h/around_corner_bike.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/Rw4rpoEcNbI/AAAAAAAAACU/5CLdkI1lDwo/s400/around_corner_bike.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120077820497507762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                                            Picture Courtesy : &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.aroundthecorner.org.uk/routes.html" target="_top"&gt;www.aroundthecorner.org.uk&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:lucida grande;font-size:180%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;100 kmph and above&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I had said in my earlier post that speeding isnt my forte' . I love cruising . Clear skies , a gentle breeze and the highway : the biker loves these . Cruising along , feeling the nature ; the gentle hum of the machine - he loves that sound .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like everyone else , the biker likes a change once in a while , so does the machine . So , out we go, on a bright sunny day : first stop is the petrol pump . Both are excited ; but it isn't evident in our subdued expressions . We are just waiting for the open road .  Refueled and tire pressures checked. Okay and we are off!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next stop , the highway . The machine knows we are on open road now and hums expectedly . We cruise along and leave other vehicles behind.  A slight release of the throttle to get the rhythm ready. And now the time to leave the rest of the world far behind !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We start accelerating 30,40,50, 60. The wind is picking up now . The higher gears have lesser acceleration .... so full throttle needed now . Its turbo mode  .... 70,80,90... things are getting real fast now . The wind is sharper . It blows on the face real hard and starts howling .A bit more acceleration.. 100 kmph . Now we get the real sense of speed . Cutting through the air , it starts screaming ... yah...for real (its goes wwwooooooo!!!!) .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Above 100 kmph , the scenery starts blurring out . The scenes on both sides fly past - ....its an eery feeling , the feeling associated with every thrill . The engine is roaring now. Strange music it sounds ....the gentle hum of the engine replaced by a furious roar , the once feeble breeze is now scowling all around us . Soon the machine starts slightly shivering ...she's reaching the top speed..cant take no more . When it starts vibrating ; its an indicator ..time to cool off buddy ! Let go off the accelerator gradually and she smoothly swings back to the rhythm . Both of us were on a high...and we are both immensely satisfied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After 110 kmph , its incredible how much slower 60 kmph feels..... :D&lt;span style=";font-family:lucida grande;font-size:180%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-1948934004559954086?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/1948934004559954086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=1948934004559954086' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/1948934004559954086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/1948934004559954086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/10/riding-with-wind-part-2.html' title='Riding with the wind  : Part 2'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bqKpRb46TUk/Rw4rpoEcNbI/AAAAAAAAACU/5CLdkI1lDwo/s72-c/around_corner_bike.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-560615051587619389</id><published>2007-09-30T08:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T09:14:04.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I , Me , Myself</title><content type='html'>Are all bloggers egotistic as I am ?&lt;a href="http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/09/what-is-happy.html"&gt; My average blog&lt;/a&gt; will feature around &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;25&lt;/span&gt; instances of the word "I" . Are we all self-centered morons who never get tired of talking of our stupid little lives ? Is it a parallel from our new way of life, where "I" is the most important , there aint anything remotely close to being more important. We live to satisfy our egos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have lost our power of patience ( yes! it &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;is&lt;/span&gt; a power. People who go about saying patience is a virtue should know better) . At the faintest effort of a criticism or judgement we get impatient. We take offense. We dont have the time to think about others and even if we do, we dont care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We live in a tiny world , greatest and largest human constructions are barely visible from the moon. Yet! such creative beings we are. We are such brilliant architects - we build gigantic mountains out of molehills.  We indeed live in a small world of large men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am the one who matters.....I am the supreme being . My belief is the truth . The greatest problems in this world are the struggles of my ego . And others......bah! what others ? I dont give a damn !&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-560615051587619389?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/560615051587619389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=560615051587619389' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/560615051587619389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/560615051587619389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-me-myself.html' title='I , Me , Myself'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-7713872689689614757</id><published>2007-09-30T08:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T08:10:11.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life in the Square One</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Some people resign to their fate with a mention of the Square One. “Back to Square one”. It’s a special place to most people. Everyday, every moment a new lease of life starts there. When I was young, I was taught of a place called ‘Hope’. Nobody’s ever sad at ‘Hope’, but everyone is content and happy. It is a place that holds much promise. When I grew up, I knew what that place is. It is Square One. And it was told it was no place – nobody ever stayed there. It was the departure point for every new journey – journeys into the unknown and unchartered – or known and chartered. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;But again, they were wrong. There are people for whom the journey starts and ends at square one. There are people who stay forever at Square One. There isn’t any other world for them. How do I know? For, ladies and gentlemen, I am one among them.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;For the longest time, I was aware and perplexed at this paradox. Being born into the family of high achievers didn’t help either.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My entire life so far can be easily summed up as a chase after some rather high expectations. But it isn’t my life that is the subject of this prose, so we’ll continue about square one.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Everyday morning, the average square-one dweller, gets up rise and shine; “ Today’s gonna be THE day, I am gonna rock today – there are mountains to move, oceans to cross, but what the heck? I am gonna kick ass anyway “. Ladies and gentlemen, a relapse to “Whatever! Life sucks!” aint an hour away for us. For all the determination, all the planning, all the will power we summon from heaven and hell, the final step is forever a mirage. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;A pessimist is a sinner; a square-one dweller is a hopelessly lost soul. May God forgive us!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;                        &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-7713872689689614757?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/7713872689689614757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=7713872689689614757' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/7713872689689614757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/7713872689689614757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/09/life-in-square-one.html' title='Life in the Square One'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-7234489686734874285</id><published>2007-09-06T08:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-06T08:12:06.922-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What is Happy ?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I had a fascination for the word ‘&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Why&lt;/span&gt;’. When I was younger I used to begin a significant part of my conversation with that word. Over the years, I’ve lost the habit of fascination. For any word or anything.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I am incapable of spiritual thought/ mental dissection required to define “Happiness”. When was the last time I was happy? Can I remember that? Allow me a moment, please.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;In a sea of sorrow, happy moments are tiny islands far apart. So they should be easy to spot. Then why can’t I remember a moment when I was really happy? There are moments I feign happy. I do it for myself, I do it for my parents, I do it for those I love, I do it for those whom I want to love me, I do it for those I don’t care a damn fuck about! But, God! Why can’t I remember a single moment of real happiness? Is there real happiness at all?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Are we all destined to be happy forever for each other’s sake? I’ve read (Yeah! I do read a LOT of nonsensical shit) that life becomes meaningful only when we stop living for ourselves and live it for others. Come on, now. Is there even a semblance of truth in that?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I’ve got to go way back here. When I was so tall….then I was happy! Oh! Cruel , cruel time! Why did you have to move along?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Why not let me stay forever a child? My little cocoon that I was happy in. Lost forever!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;When Pa used to come home after work and spend the evenings dandling me and letting the little me dance on his knees and Ma would be smiling and preparing me hot milk and chocolate drink. The little me blissfully unaware of the eight preceding hours that Pa was bending his back over routine, boring office work to earn enough for his little bundle of joy .&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Those were the days….when the greatest discomfort was when my milk was too hot, the greatest perplexity of life was the night sky and the million stars , the greatest surprise in life was what delicacy pa would be buying for me in the evening , greatest fun was the monsoon rain and the paper boats and the splashing , great sadness was when playtime ends and greatest pleasure was when I used to genuinely ask “&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Why?&lt;/span&gt;” . &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Since then, time has moved on and life’s been a bitch.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-7234489686734874285?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/7234489686734874285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=7234489686734874285' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/7234489686734874285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/7234489686734874285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/09/what-is-happy.html' title='What is Happy ?'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-828234915130320367</id><published>2007-09-04T19:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T10:05:14.715-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I've been Tagged !</title><content type='html'>&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;I’ve been tagged by fellow blogger &lt;a href="http://www.mexxian.blogspot.com/"&gt;Abhi&lt;/a&gt; . And bloggers reply in kind…and without much further ado, here I go.&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;1.Pick      out a scar you have, and explain how you got it:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;This scar is in the direct line of sight in front of me as I fumble over my keyboard (No touch typist here &lt;/span&gt;:( &lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;). On my left forearm – a patch about the size of a visiting card and looking like charred skin is THE Scar.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Quite unassuming as far as personalities of scars go. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;I am a scourge of the road. This scar is my reminder of one of my earlier misadventures. A fateful evening; 8.30 p.m I am returning from Nedumangad via Peroorkada. Exact location I don’t remember, but it is nearer to one of the s-curves en route Vattapaara.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was rather proud of my 3-month-old Honda. From my faint recollection (we don’t remember the details of our failures, do we?) I overtook a KSRTC bus at the start of the s-curve at about 60 kmph , went into the lower part of the s-curve without cutting the speed. To negotiate the turn, I slightly tilted the bike and feeling confident because no vehicle came in opposite direction, I still didn’t cut the speed (Silly ASS!). I went on dipping the angle and the bike was at an angle of 60 degrees from the road. Then ……it all happened in about 50 milliseconds. The rear tire unable to take the pressure, gave way. The vehicle swerved badly – I hit the front brakes – the bike stalled and it started skidding along the road.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;All I remember are the initial thud and the fury of the roaring engine. Then I was getting dragged along the gravel along some 10-15 meters. I was in no position to get up by myself and it was a very dark area (&lt;st1:street st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:address st="on"&gt;No street&lt;/st1:address&gt;&lt;/st1:street&gt; lights). A few very kind bystanders / locals helped me up but for some reason I refused to let go of my bike and then they forced me to do so. &lt;/span&gt;:) &lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;My arm was shaking badly and I knew this was really bad ….I had injured myself. My thought was to get home…somehow!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;The KSRTC bus passed me by a few seconds later when the bike and myself had been moved from the middle of the road, with all the passengers looking on at this pandemonium. You will never learn how earnestly I loved God that moment….a difference of a few seconds and Google would have been spared of these many bytes. ;) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;    There were many comments from onlookers like “ Njyangalkku ith thanne pani – ennum &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;kure&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;     ennam ivide veezhum …(This is a major trouble for us – there are daily accidents here) “.             One  comment stands out in my memory – an elderly man gave this gem – “ Speed theere           kurangyu poyi…athaanu veenathu (the speed was too low, that’s why you fell “. Inspite of             feeling sure that my arm was in flames I smiled.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In about two minutes I was up again, I took     my bike, started it (it started in one kick) and started for home. I stopped at the &lt;st1:street st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:address st="on"&gt;next street&lt;/st1:address&gt;&lt;/st1:street&gt;         light and raised my sleeve or what was left of it…it made me sick. It was swollen; there was         no skin and blood dripping down the sleeve and the shirt.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Looking back now, I seriously             wonder how I drove about 12 kilometers till home with that arm.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And that is the story of my     scar. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;Since then the two of us have done 5000 kilometers together without event, clocked a top speed of 110 kmph and been happily biking ever after.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2.What      does your phone look like?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Hmm…interesting question. My current phone is a Nokia 2100 and it looks like something the cat has brought in ….. ( I know its rather unfair of me to tell that of a phone that my served my father well for 3 years….but its God’s fault – giving me a rather nasty aesthetic sense and a MotoRazr v3i which I used for 3 months) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3.What      is on the walls of your bedroom?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;A calendar, a poster of a very nice painting of child lord &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Krishna&lt;/st1:place&gt;, a mirror, a coat hanger. Hmmm…I guess I’ll never earn my ration rice as an Interior designer &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;:)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4.What      is your current desktop picture?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;My first system has a blank desktop, no wallpaper (A P-II system tweaked for speed)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;My Second system has Harley Davidson Cruiser Wallpaper&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(Someday I want to buy a cruiser and one of these days I will…)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. Do      you believe in gay marriage?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;No, I don’t. Gays are people who think, feel and act differently and      they yearn to be free from social hassles. So why force an institution      like marriage on them? If gay people want to live together, let them be.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;6.What      do you want more than anything right now?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;Ho….difficult question . I have 7 backpapers (doing Btech Degree major in Electronics). I want to clear all of them and get my bachelor’s degree in first class.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;7. What time were you born?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Friday morning, long long time ago. And as some of my friends mention, God must have winked for a moment. &lt;/span&gt;:)&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;8.Are      your parents still together?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Yes. And they are a great inspiration to me – the way they have      together tolerated &lt;b&gt;ME&lt;/b&gt; for all these years. Incredible!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;9.Last      person who made you cry?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;It was about 1 year ago when I was in Chennai I had seen a really old      man (at least 75-80 years) working as a waiter in a restaurant outside my      workplace. I sat there sipping my tea and looking at him slowly going      along his work. It was a very sad moment. I didn’t cry, but felt like I am      empty inside. I never went to that restaurant again. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;:(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;10. What is your favourite perfume      / cologne?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;All fragrances of Axe. I choose a different one each time I buy . Current choice – Click.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;11.What      kinds of hair/eye color do you like in the opposite sex?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I like girls with long or slightly curly, black hair (I don’t approve      other colours). &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;I’ve had fascination for people with&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;green-colour-eyes. But there’s something mysterious about those eyes that I am not comfortable with. So I guess I would approve black/ brown eye colour.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;12.What      are you listening to?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Enya – Braveheart Theme.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;13.Do      you get scared of the dark?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No. When I was young I used to be scared of being alone.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’ve learnt to appreciate solitude since      then.&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;14.Do      you like painkillers?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;No. And I don’t like pain as well. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;15.Are you too shy to ask someone out?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;I am not now. (Perhaps because I don’t have anyone to do that now). I once had, and I was shy. In those circumstances she would have refused anyway. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;:(&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;16.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;If      you could eat anything right now, what would it be?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I don’t want anything to eat right now. But I would really appreciate some pure fruit juice now.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;On afterthought, some tapioca chips wouldn’t be a rather bad idea either.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;17.Who      was the last person that made you mad?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;A classmate of mine. For believing that closing your eyes creates darkness      and rather stubbornly insisting that all the rest of us believe the same. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;18.Who      was the last person who made you smile?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"&gt;A friend of mine who in her own naïve way got me philosophizing again      during conversation. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;color:black;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;I tag &lt;a href="http://www.thebloggersblock.com/"&gt;Akhil Sasidharan&lt;/a&gt; , &lt;a href="http://www.lekshmisthoughts.blogspot.com/"&gt;Lekshmi C&lt;/a&gt; ,&lt;a href="http://www.mrcommonsensical.blogspot.com/"&gt;Don&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://tobeafreebird.blogspot.com/"&gt;Freebird&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-828234915130320367?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/828234915130320367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=828234915130320367' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/828234915130320367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/828234915130320367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/09/ive-been-tagged.html' title='I&apos;ve been Tagged !'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-2290070382268720898</id><published>2007-08-06T08:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-06T08:53:51.532-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Solitary Cyclist</title><content type='html'>The title is a nod to Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle - Solitary Cyclist is one among his sherlockian works. I am a fan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a cyclist first and a biker next. I really love cycling - so much so that once I've even done a 14 km stretch inside the city! Then why , you may be inclined to ask , do we not see you more often riding your first love ? Well! The college starts 9.00 am  ; by 8.45 am I am barely up from my bed and searching for my toothbrush - ergo, I may be excused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, given the leisure of time and good weather - there's nothing like a  gentle bicycle ride down the city by-lanes . Its a bit risky to try this sport on the busy city streets - so keep to less busier streets  and the by-lanes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why? Why? When the entire world is crazed about getting as fast as they can get - Why cycling ? It has got to do with the lifestyles we have made for ourselves. I get tired of the rat-race too often. I need my time out. In my bicycle , slowly going along - watching as the world hurries ahead. I'll tell you how it feels like - watching an entire movie in slow motion. A bike ride can never give me that. I get to see old couples holding hands to cross the roads, little kids on the way to school - sulking and dragging along their busy parents , everyone busy and hurrying along and time's almost stopped for me - man , its almost surreal!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am solitary - there isn't anyone cycling to work /college nowadays. Even school kids - I never see them on bicycles on my way.  Everyone should try it out sometime - Just slow your world down - enjoy the ride . There are simpler pleasures that always bring more joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bike ride is "Riding with the wind" . Cycling is "surfing the breeze" .  :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And by the way, did I mention it is healthy ?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-2290070382268720898?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/2290070382268720898/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=2290070382268720898' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/2290070382268720898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/2290070382268720898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/08/solitary-cyclist.html' title='The Solitary Cyclist'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-3860637986542334358</id><published>2007-03-24T03:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-24T04:05:22.702-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Riding with the wind</title><content type='html'>Biker Profile :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Riding Style : Usually controlled and smooth , goes into rash mode when challenged. In Police registers once. Enjoys drag races.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rides Owned : Bajaj KB100, Honda Unicorn (Current)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Top Speed : 110 km/hr&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Accidents : 4&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preferred destination :  Beach, Secluded Scenic drives, Highways&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preferred routes in Tvpm: Museum -Kawdiar , The Kazhakuttom Bypass Highway , Pattom- Kesavadas puram , the beach road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preferred Riding Mode : Cruising&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why I love biking ? I cant explain . I've done around 3500 kms riding within Tvpm , alone . But  I cant get enough of riding again . There may be multitude of reasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speed thrills almost everyone , but not me. I would rather prefer cruising along the highway, minding my own business.  For a biker , the ride is a high - its a personal thing , unlike the car ride. The biker feels the wind , the engine underneath him , the gentle machine hum and the heart beat,  he feels the road , the scenery flies past him - he rides with the wind . A ride is a beautiful thing . It feels like music or a painting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-3860637986542334358?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/3860637986542334358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=3860637986542334358' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/3860637986542334358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/3860637986542334358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/03/riding-with-wind.html' title='Riding with the wind'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4154570988430020287.post-8501557898245395327</id><published>2007-01-14T23:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-24T03:23:04.712-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Being a Boy</title><content type='html'>Guess, this is all I can say...there's always some part of me and you that never wants to grow up. The part which by every moment that we breathe , exhilarate us with the sense of living . The grandeur of life , memories - sweet and sour . Every man is a boy inside. We all have our fantasies, our trepidations, our private spaces in our heads - that we cannot live without . Guess, that is all we can talk about - the part of us that keeps us alive.... i"ll talk about Being a Boy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4154570988430020287-8501557898245395327?l=harisr.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/feeds/8501557898245395327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4154570988430020287&amp;postID=8501557898245395327' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/8501557898245395327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4154570988430020287/posts/default/8501557898245395327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://harisr.blogspot.com/2007/01/being-boy.html' title='Being a Boy'/><author><name>Hari S R</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12297201840219187288</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
