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Monday, December 29, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Life of a Teacher..
Life of a teacher at times little risky :)
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Ek Gaavum Mein...
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Ek Gaavum Mein...
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Friday, December 19, 2008
Looks of Ghajini
Aamir and his eight-pack . Tremendous Hardwork
No Pain. No Gain. He used to get tired exercising and sometimes even used to shriek in pain and cry doing the stomach crunches, but he did not skip a single day. Every week his body used to show results and that kept him going
Aamir's Corporate Look. Dress code of professionals will change soon. Slim Sleeves.
Aamir takes multiple avatars in the film
No Pain. No Gain. He used to get tired exercising and sometimes even used to shriek in pain and cry doing the stomach crunches, but he did not skip a single day. Every week his body used to show results and that kept him going
Aamir's Corporate Look. Dress code of professionals will change soon. Slim Sleeves.
Aamir takes multiple avatars in the film
'Welcome' to Control...Control.....
Long time back i watched this Hindi movie 'Welcome'. Full of humour, comedy entertainer.
This movie made me laugh and laugh and laugh and enjoy.
A trendsetter in Don's Life :) Way to go.
DON Nana Patekar's control...control
Watch Out here!!! Anil Kapoor's dominance, Akshay Kumar reactions and one and only Nana Patekar acting.
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Attempts to change Don's Life and its a trendsetter :)
Observe Conversation when nana patekar is doing facial and the guy describing about how nan patekar takes the deal from Sunil Shetty in a movie contract.
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Different Walks of Life in this movie, making a difference
An Introduction...
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This movie made me laugh and laugh and laugh and enjoy.
A trendsetter in Don's Life :) Way to go.
DON Nana Patekar's control...control
Watch Out here!!! Anil Kapoor's dominance, Akshay Kumar reactions and one and only Nana Patekar acting.
A video will load here. Plz wait if not loaded yet.....
Attempts to change Don's Life and its a trendsetter :)
Observe Conversation when nana patekar is doing facial and the guy describing about how nan patekar takes the deal from Sunil Shetty in a movie contract.
A video will load here. Plz wait if not loaded yet.....
Different Walks of Life in this movie, making a difference
An Introduction...
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Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Money!! What Money! Where's that Money !
What should I do next?
For the past couple of months and weeks we see govt.'s of different countries falling into recession / predicting to fall into recession, bailing out big firms with billions of money, and one hedge fund fraud that is worth millions and billions. With almost all the business saying that they are going to cut cost at all walks of business and saving money the onus is on us as part of the raising economy / nation said to be One of the Big Two's to take charge of the present situation.
I presently dont see a way to make money or for a new business venture. But surely see a lot of potential in us and a future in us, so I request every reader from every walk of business to put in their ideas in where & what is the best way to earn money and save money to our present business. Looking forward for your comments!
For the past couple of months and weeks we see govt.'s of different countries falling into recession / predicting to fall into recession, bailing out big firms with billions of money, and one hedge fund fraud that is worth millions and billions. With almost all the business saying that they are going to cut cost at all walks of business and saving money the onus is on us as part of the raising economy / nation said to be One of the Big Two's to take charge of the present situation.
I presently dont see a way to make money or for a new business venture. But surely see a lot of potential in us and a future in us, so I request every reader from every walk of business to put in their ideas in where & what is the best way to earn money and save money to our present business. Looking forward for your comments!
Sachin Tendulkar's Finest Hour
Final Day's Play in Cricket Test Match between
India vs England
Venue: Chennai, India
Date: Dec 15, 2008
India had 6 wickets remaining. Match evenly poised. Tendulkar and Yuvraj Singh in there. England was in complete control. A precious wicket of Tendulkar would have surely made England emerge victorious. Tendulkar kept his cool battling out but i didnt. After lunch, I was following up the scores in our Cricket Live Score Updater time to time. The way masterblaster sachin spearhead the battle was awesome. Brilliant perfomance. An attitude every cricketer in the world should bring into themseleves for their country. India won the game in style.
This was so much more than just a match winning century. He's 35 years old and owns practically every batting record in the game, but you couldn't escape the feeling that this was probably Sachin Tendulkar's finest hour. India chased 387 runs for this famous triumph.
India vs England
Venue: Chennai, India
Date: Dec 15, 2008
India had 6 wickets remaining. Match evenly poised. Tendulkar and Yuvraj Singh in there. England was in complete control. A precious wicket of Tendulkar would have surely made England emerge victorious. Tendulkar kept his cool battling out but i didnt. After lunch, I was following up the scores in our Cricket Live Score Updater time to time. The way masterblaster sachin spearhead the battle was awesome. Brilliant perfomance. An attitude every cricketer in the world should bring into themseleves for their country. India won the game in style.
This was so much more than just a match winning century. He's 35 years old and owns practically every batting record in the game, but you couldn't escape the feeling that this was probably Sachin Tendulkar's finest hour. India chased 387 runs for this famous triumph.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The World - India Calling
Mates just wanted to share with you this article in NY times. Hope you enjoy it. Read on.....
“WHAT are Papa and I doing here?”
These words, instant-messaged by my mother in a suburb of Washington, D.C., whizzed through the deep-ocean cables and came to me in the village where I’m now living, in the country that she left.
It was five years ago that I left America to come live and work in India. Now, in our family and among our Indian-American friends, other children of immigrants are exploring motherland opportunities. As economies convulse in the West and jobs dry up, the idea is spreading virally in émigré homes.
Which raises a heart-stirring question: If our parents left India and trudged westward for us, if they manufactured from scratch a new life there for us, if they slogged, saved, sacrificed to make our lives lighter than theirs, then what does it mean when we choose to migrate to the place they forsook?
If we are here, what are they doing there?
They came of age in the 1970s, when the “there” seemed paved with possibility and the “here” seemed paved with potholes. As a young trainee, my father felt frustrated in companies that awarded roles based on age, not achievement. He looked at his bosses, 20 years ahead of him in line, and concluded that he didn’t want to spend his life becoming them.
My parents married in India and then embarked to America on a lonely, thrilling adventure. They learned together to drive, shop in malls, paint a house. They decided who and how to be. They kept reinventing themselves, discarding the invention, starting anew. My father became a management consultant, an entrepreneur, a human-resources executive, then a Ph.D. candidate. My mother began as a homemaker, learned ceramics, became a ceramics teacher and then the head of the art department at one of Washington’s best schools.
It was extraordinary, and ordinary: This is what America did to people, what it always has done.
My parents brought us to India every few years as children. I relished time with relatives; but India always felt alien, impenetrable, frozen.
Perhaps it was the survivalism born of scarcity: the fierce pushing to get off the plane, the miserliness even of the rich, the obsession with doctors and engineers and the neglect of all others. Perhaps it was the bureaucracy, the need to know someone to do anything. Or the culture shock of servitude: a child’s horror at reading “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” in an American middle school, then seeing servants slapped and degraded in India.
My firsthand impression of India seemed to confirm the rearview immigrant myth of it: a land of impossibilities. But history bends and swerves, and sometimes swivels fully around.
India, having fruitlessly pursued command economics, tried something new: It liberalized, privatized, globalized. The economy boomed, and hope began to course through towns and villages shackled by fatalism and low expectations.
America, meanwhile, floundered. In a blink of history came 9/11, outsourcing, Afghanistan, Iraq, Katrina, rising economies, rogue nuclear nations, climate change, dwindling oil, a financial crisis.
Pessimism crept into the sunniest nation. A vast majority saw America going astray. Books heralded a “Post-American World.” Even in the wake of a historic presidential election, culminating in a dramatic change in direction, it remained unclear whether the United States could be delivered from its woes any time soon.
“In the U.S., there’s a crisis of confidence,” said Nandan Nilekani, co-chairman of Infosys Technologies, the Indian software giant. “In India,” he added, “for the first time after decades or centuries, there is a sense of optimism about the future, a sense that our children’s futures can be better than ours if we try hard enough.”
My love for the country of my birth has never flickered. But these new times piqued interest in my ancestral land. Many of us, the stepchildren of India, felt its change of spirit, felt the gravitational force of condensed hope. And we came.
Exact data on émigrés working in India or spending more time here are scarce. But this is one indicator: India unveiled an Overseas Citizen of India card in 2006, offering foreign citizens of Indian origin visa-free entry for life and making it easier to work in the country. By this July, more than 280,000 émigrés had signed up, according to The Economic Times, a business daily, including 120,000 from the United States.
At first we felt confused by India’s formalities and hierarchies, by British phraseology even the British had jettisoned, by the ubiquity of acronyms. We wondered what newspapers meant when they said, “INSAT-4CR in orbit, DTH to get a boost.” (Apparently, it meant a satellite would soon beam direct-to-home television signals.)
Working in offices, some of us were perplexed to be invited to “S&M conferences,” only to discover that this denoted sales and marketing. Several found to their chagrin that it is acceptable for another man to touch your inner thigh when you crack a joke in a meeting.
We learned new expressions: “He is on tour” (Means: He is traveling. Doesn’t mean: He has joined U2.); “What is your native place?” (Means: Where did your ancestors live? Doesn’t mean: What hospital delivered you?); “Two minutes” (Means: An hour. Doesn’t mean: Two minutes.).
We tried to reinvent ourselves, as our parents had, but in reverse. Some studied Hindi, others yoga. Some visited the Ganges to find themselves; others tried days-long meditations.
Many of us who shunned Indian clothes in youth began wearing kurtas and chappals, saris and churidars. There was a sad truth in this: We had waited for our heritage to become cool to the world before we draped its colors and textures on our own backs.
We learned how to make friends here, and that it requires befriending families. We learned to love here: Men found fondness for the elusive Indian woman; women surprised themselves in succumbing to chauvinistic, mother-spoiled men.
We forged dual-use accents. We spoke in foreign accents by default. But when it came to arguing with accountants or ordering takeout kebabs, we went sing-song Indian.
We gravitated to work specially suited to us. If there is a creative class, in Richard Florida’s phrase, there is also emerging what might be called a fusion class: people positioned to mediate among the multiple societies that claim them.
India’s second-generation returnees have built boutiques that fuse Indian fabrics with Western cuts, founded companies that train a generation to work in Western companies, become dealmakers in investment firms that speak equally to Wall Street and Dalal Street, mixed albums that combine throbbing tabla with Western melodies.
Our parents’ generation helped India from afar. They sent money, advised charities, guided hedge-fund dollars into the Bombay Stock Exchange. But most were too implicated in India to return. Our generation, unscathed by it, was freer to embrace it.
Countries like India once fretted about a “brain drain.” We are learning now that “brain circulation,” as some call it, may be more apt.
India did not export brains; it invested them. It sent millions away. In the freedom of new soil, they flowered. They seeded a new generation that, having blossomed, did what humans have always done: chase the frontier of the future.
Which just happened, for many of us, to be the frontier of our own pasts.
Orginal link: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/23/weekinreview/23anand.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1
“WHAT are Papa and I doing here?”
These words, instant-messaged by my mother in a suburb of Washington, D.C., whizzed through the deep-ocean cables and came to me in the village where I’m now living, in the country that she left.
It was five years ago that I left America to come live and work in India. Now, in our family and among our Indian-American friends, other children of immigrants are exploring motherland opportunities. As economies convulse in the West and jobs dry up, the idea is spreading virally in émigré homes.
Which raises a heart-stirring question: If our parents left India and trudged westward for us, if they manufactured from scratch a new life there for us, if they slogged, saved, sacrificed to make our lives lighter than theirs, then what does it mean when we choose to migrate to the place they forsook?
If we are here, what are they doing there?
They came of age in the 1970s, when the “there” seemed paved with possibility and the “here” seemed paved with potholes. As a young trainee, my father felt frustrated in companies that awarded roles based on age, not achievement. He looked at his bosses, 20 years ahead of him in line, and concluded that he didn’t want to spend his life becoming them.
My parents married in India and then embarked to America on a lonely, thrilling adventure. They learned together to drive, shop in malls, paint a house. They decided who and how to be. They kept reinventing themselves, discarding the invention, starting anew. My father became a management consultant, an entrepreneur, a human-resources executive, then a Ph.D. candidate. My mother began as a homemaker, learned ceramics, became a ceramics teacher and then the head of the art department at one of Washington’s best schools.
It was extraordinary, and ordinary: This is what America did to people, what it always has done.
My parents brought us to India every few years as children. I relished time with relatives; but India always felt alien, impenetrable, frozen.
Perhaps it was the survivalism born of scarcity: the fierce pushing to get off the plane, the miserliness even of the rich, the obsession with doctors and engineers and the neglect of all others. Perhaps it was the bureaucracy, the need to know someone to do anything. Or the culture shock of servitude: a child’s horror at reading “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” in an American middle school, then seeing servants slapped and degraded in India.
My firsthand impression of India seemed to confirm the rearview immigrant myth of it: a land of impossibilities. But history bends and swerves, and sometimes swivels fully around.
India, having fruitlessly pursued command economics, tried something new: It liberalized, privatized, globalized. The economy boomed, and hope began to course through towns and villages shackled by fatalism and low expectations.
America, meanwhile, floundered. In a blink of history came 9/11, outsourcing, Afghanistan, Iraq, Katrina, rising economies, rogue nuclear nations, climate change, dwindling oil, a financial crisis.
Pessimism crept into the sunniest nation. A vast majority saw America going astray. Books heralded a “Post-American World.” Even in the wake of a historic presidential election, culminating in a dramatic change in direction, it remained unclear whether the United States could be delivered from its woes any time soon.
“In the U.S., there’s a crisis of confidence,” said Nandan Nilekani, co-chairman of Infosys Technologies, the Indian software giant. “In India,” he added, “for the first time after decades or centuries, there is a sense of optimism about the future, a sense that our children’s futures can be better than ours if we try hard enough.”
My love for the country of my birth has never flickered. But these new times piqued interest in my ancestral land. Many of us, the stepchildren of India, felt its change of spirit, felt the gravitational force of condensed hope. And we came.
Exact data on émigrés working in India or spending more time here are scarce. But this is one indicator: India unveiled an Overseas Citizen of India card in 2006, offering foreign citizens of Indian origin visa-free entry for life and making it easier to work in the country. By this July, more than 280,000 émigrés had signed up, according to The Economic Times, a business daily, including 120,000 from the United States.
At first we felt confused by India’s formalities and hierarchies, by British phraseology even the British had jettisoned, by the ubiquity of acronyms. We wondered what newspapers meant when they said, “INSAT-4CR in orbit, DTH to get a boost.” (Apparently, it meant a satellite would soon beam direct-to-home television signals.)
Working in offices, some of us were perplexed to be invited to “S&M conferences,” only to discover that this denoted sales and marketing. Several found to their chagrin that it is acceptable for another man to touch your inner thigh when you crack a joke in a meeting.
We learned new expressions: “He is on tour” (Means: He is traveling. Doesn’t mean: He has joined U2.); “What is your native place?” (Means: Where did your ancestors live? Doesn’t mean: What hospital delivered you?); “Two minutes” (Means: An hour. Doesn’t mean: Two minutes.).
We tried to reinvent ourselves, as our parents had, but in reverse. Some studied Hindi, others yoga. Some visited the Ganges to find themselves; others tried days-long meditations.
Many of us who shunned Indian clothes in youth began wearing kurtas and chappals, saris and churidars. There was a sad truth in this: We had waited for our heritage to become cool to the world before we draped its colors and textures on our own backs.
We learned how to make friends here, and that it requires befriending families. We learned to love here: Men found fondness for the elusive Indian woman; women surprised themselves in succumbing to chauvinistic, mother-spoiled men.
We forged dual-use accents. We spoke in foreign accents by default. But when it came to arguing with accountants or ordering takeout kebabs, we went sing-song Indian.
We gravitated to work specially suited to us. If there is a creative class, in Richard Florida’s phrase, there is also emerging what might be called a fusion class: people positioned to mediate among the multiple societies that claim them.
India’s second-generation returnees have built boutiques that fuse Indian fabrics with Western cuts, founded companies that train a generation to work in Western companies, become dealmakers in investment firms that speak equally to Wall Street and Dalal Street, mixed albums that combine throbbing tabla with Western melodies.
Our parents’ generation helped India from afar. They sent money, advised charities, guided hedge-fund dollars into the Bombay Stock Exchange. But most were too implicated in India to return. Our generation, unscathed by it, was freer to embrace it.
Countries like India once fretted about a “brain drain.” We are learning now that “brain circulation,” as some call it, may be more apt.
India did not export brains; it invested them. It sent millions away. In the freedom of new soil, they flowered. They seeded a new generation that, having blossomed, did what humans have always done: chase the frontier of the future.
Which just happened, for many of us, to be the frontier of our own pasts.
Orginal link: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/23/weekinreview/23anand.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1
Monday, December 1, 2008
There was this news.....
There was this news that 200 sardars are killed in a train accident at the station. Only one Sardar left alive. The correspondent goes to the Sardarji and the conversation between them goes as follows:
Correspondent:
How did this happen?
Sardarji:
Well, all the 200 people were waiting for the train. They were standing on the platform. Then there was this announcement that the train is arriving on platform number 2. They got scared to know that the train is arriving on the platform and hence they jumped onto the tracks to save themselves. The announcement was misleading the train arrived on the track and you can see the result.
Correspondent:
Well, I guess, you must be the intelligent Sardarji. Why did you not jump onto the tracks?
Sardarji:
I was actually trying to commit suicide. I was waiting for the train on the tracks.When I heard that the train is arriving on the platform, I climbed up.
In Financial Crisis.....
Please can you lend me Rs 1000, I will return it to you day after tomorrow, I need it. Pls help me out, I know you Have it ... ....... ..............
.... ... .... ............. I Know you Have it ....
... ........ ........ . ..... . ......
Sardar talking to an ATM Machine!!
.... ... .... ............. I Know you Have it ....
... ........ ........ . ..... . ......
Sardar talking to an ATM Machine!!
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