As I keep on turning the pages of “Snow” by Orhan Pamuk, this time I don’t get mesmerized by the character development as Doris Lessing did in “The Grass is singing”, but I wonder in the detail narration.

Well, you may be thinking the reason of my wonder. Let me explain a very small thing from my personal experience.

The floor always contains dirt irrespective of how many times you sweep it. It always contains some dirt. What I mean to say is “The Room Is Never Clean.”

The same I feel for writing. It always can be improvised irrespective of how many times you moderate it. What I mean to say is “Writing can always be in more detail.”

Hey, wait! When I land on Orhan, I don’t feel wonder or amaze.  I feel as if he is sitting next to me and my soul is listening to him… A magic, just a magic!!

And I wonder, if Orhan would be given to sweep a room, will it be cleaned or still the floor will contain some dirt!!!

My soul says the floor will be clean.

Uncle Sam said, “You must remember Orhan’s Nobel presentation speech, ‘To write a book is to dig a well by needle’.”

Signature: God Bless You.

                Satyabrata.

That evening my friend asked me why I hate Chetan so much when I have never hated any one in my life till now. To answer him, I said, “Ok, some facts about Chetan are:

1. He studied at IIT, Delhi and he was screwed in the initial periods.
2. He fell in love with a Professor’s daughter and fucked her.
3. He got screwed in the campus placement round too.

And he wrote “5 point Someone”. That was okay.

4. Perhaps he visited a call center later through one of his friend.

And he wrote “One Night @ Call Center” which was a rubbish.

Then he wanted to build ‘Writing’ as career and built up the fiction “3 mistakes of my life” which was another into a trash. When it didn’t work out, he went back to write on his own life in “2 States”, how he got admitted into IIM-A, how he got his girl friend and how he fucked her and blah blah.

Why should I read his life story and clap?” I asked him in return.

“Whatsoever, read what he writes. If you don’t like it, can you write better than it?” He threw upon me.

“Oh, come on. If I don’t like a movie, it doesn’t mean me to direct a movie. If I don’t like a dish, it doesn’t mean me to cook the dish. If I don’t like a book, it doesn’t necessarily mean me to write a book.” I cleared the air.

“Okay, you don’t like his write-ups. But what makes you hate him?” perhaps he had promised to bug me.

“IIT-Delhi, IIM-Ahmadabad, City Bank job: profile sounds damn good man, can’t I expect some intellectual stuff from the guy? Forget the perfection in writing; the guy at least needs to watch some Hollywood flicks, to view some dialogues. The screen play writers are not from heaven. They just scramble the words from the lexicon and we wonder, “Hey! It’s true but we have never thought over it!!” that’s not a creation, but in some way that’s a creation. They create our conjecture, they create our hilarity…  

Earlier I used to think, “It is good to read books.” Now I edit it, “It is good to read only good books.”

Perhaps it was a long reply he had not expected… And he turned to his desk.

Uncle Sam said, “You like English movies, you like English music, you like foreign literature, what do you like in India?”

I said, “Indian Mythology.”

Signature: God Bless You.

               Satyabrata.

Of late, I find the recruitment procedure has got tougher than ever. I remember my time when I was asked fundamentals of VLSI designs and some simple Embedded Programming applications.

Things have been changed a lot!!! This, that, how this, how that, write this, write that.. blah, blah, blah….

 Later when I recommended a candidate for the next round, I was screwed. “How could you filter this guy?” was the sudden blast on me.

“He has been searching for job for last one and half year, hmm…” I mumbled.

“But he doesn’t have any knowledge in this domain.” The voice yelled.

“He’ll be trained.” I lowered my voice.

“Be kind to the company, not to the candidate.” And there was toooon-toooon in the receiver set.

I felt pity for the guy.

Uncle Sam asked, “Why do you be kind when the same is not rewind? Do you remember how literally you were fucked off in Intel’s interview?”

Signature: God Bless You.

                Satyabrata.

Sometimes I am

Up in work…

And sometimes I am

Down in work…

Anyway that doesn’t affect

My Life…

Then

When I am

Up in health…

I sing & dance..

And when I am

Down in fever

That severely affects

My Life…

Nothing seems good, nothing tastes good…

Signature: God Bless You.

It’s another Sunday morning, the clock in the desktop shows 9.12 am and I sit up to write on something that probably bothered my sleep last night. It won’t be a simple love triangle like the previous but may be mysterious, I think to myself. Oh, I want to avoid this ‘think to myself’ phrase, but I don’t know what to substitute. Let me begin something different.

When he began to see her, village people around him didn’t notice and didn’t shrug their shoulders. The distance of twenty meters between two huts meant the families more than neighbors. Trust the boy when he knew what the girl had in her breakfast.

He was only eighteen and looked even younger, owing to his tall physique, thin face, fair complexion and short hair. The girl had no birth certificate like him. His parents said she was born after two months he had started to cry. And they said it was a full moon light when she had started to cry, another on earth!

The village comprised of not more than thirty people, built up on a hill, little away from a forest and extended to a mile in the opposite direction to meet a railway bridge made hundred years ago. In reality no body was interested to develop road or health or education over the area. The area was a dot on the border in both the maps of two neighboring states.

He assented to support his father in the woods and she stayed inside with her mother. In his single-mindedness he always liked to look at her. Her long dark-brown hair reached her back. She usually wore a lustrous maroon silk frock at rigid round waist and knee length. She offered her a smile when his gullible eyes met her for more than seconds. How could he not love her, with those black eyes and that brown hair, and the adorable way she blushed whenever he looked into her eyes?

Time went far before he realized. They had been exchanging smiles without a word for years when his father one evening opened the theme of enticement of neighbor’s daughter’s nuptials in the next week. With a silent nod, he left the house heading for a usual smudge near the fountain which was known to no one but to the girl. They had not necessarily met there but she had an eye over him all the time. He sat there; his pain was long and agonizing.

She got married on the decreed date.

The sky was cloudy that evening. She had visited her parents for a night. He had checked her sandals at the door while coming to the street. As usual he reached the smudge and kept gazing at the clouds. It started to rain, slowly first and then heavily. But he didn’t care. There was an unpredictable storm and heavy logs got unplugged from the soil. He sat rooted to the ground. And then there was a thud of slippery steps. He looked behind and there she was. She was drenched in rain and mud and approaching towards him from behind like an over-excited terrier. Her breast outlines looked so perfect in her wet clothes. She came close to him and sat next to him.

Moments elapsed. Her hair was open, untied. He brought her face close to him. She took his hand rasping on her thighs. He had expected that. But then he saw things clearly. He had to do it. He had no choice. As long as she remained so mesmerizingly, intoxicatingly beautiful, he was in love with her. He felt a warm wetness between her legs. In the rain & the storm, under the sky and on the smudge, he made love to her. The penetration was so strong; she wondered she hadn’t lost consciousness. Like a rip tide she was no longer aware of the rain but the sensations deep inside her. But he was violent, physically and mentally. And when exhausted, he gathered her long hair and tightened it around her neck. She felt suffocated. He put his lips into her even though he knew her scream would vanish in the storm and gripped her hairs rigid enough till she left her last breath.

He smiled with half coy, top lip slightly curled. Once he had loved her long hair.

Uncle Sam asked, “Do you like silent characters as I can guess from your two write-ups?”

I fell silent.

Signature: God Bless You.

               Satyabrata.

P.S.: The above mentioned story is absolutely an upshot of my haphazard contemplation and is not identical or similar to any story that I’ve read before to the best of my knowledge & concern. Any part of it to be copied or printed or published is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Satyabrata Sahoo.

You have been asking me…

Perhaps more than 10 times…

You need an article by me...

To published in the school’s 50th souvenir…..

But I gaze into the emptiness…

I get merged into hopelessness…

Thinking what to write…

And pondering what to write…

My mind has stopped functioning…

Under the sky, I find myself..

In a world of insane…

Where everyone just work…

And there’s no talk…

And there’s no emotion…

And there’re no machines…

There humans are machines only…

And I love those human beings…

They have sparkling eyes…

They seem stoic and in fact they’re…

They don’t understand any word…

They don’t recognize any emotion…

They do not have any expectation…

They do not have any realization…

They only work, work and work….

I lose myself there…

I love that sphere…

There’s no award…

There’s no punishment…

There’s only one thing you need to do…

That is your work…

There’s no master…

There’s no slave…

Tringgg!!!

My cell phone beeps…

I regain my sense…

There is one msg…

I ignore it…

And I wish to ask Dad, “Why can’t you read my silence?”

To write is to speak…

And I don’t want to write…

Love,

Me.

Every Sunday evening, I visit book stores, regularly, as a routine. And so also last evening and I picked up

1. SAKI 100 stories
2. ‘Snow’ by Orhan Pamuk

I was close to pay when I turned back and picked up

3. ‘2 States’ by Chetan Bhagat.

Two points made me turn back.

1. Let’s have a look how Chetan has improved in his fourth book.
2. Has he been influenced by Araving Adiga? Let’s see.

After finishing some 9-10 stories from SAKI, I wanted to check Chetan and turned the pages. As I kept on moving, I felt sympathetic to the guy who has not improved a little even in his fourth book. Mind it, fourth book. I am not talking about the grammatical mistakes or poor word construction but the way. Let’s take a simple example.

Page 65 says:

‘What else do you know about her?’

‘Nothing,’ Dolly said as her eyes shifted around.

‘Tell me.’

‘Oh, some soft. That she is very aggressive and clever and has you totally under her control. But South Indian girls are like that, no?’

‘Do you know any South Indian girls?’

‘No,’ Dolly said as she twirled her straw. ‘Sorry, I didn’t want to tell you. You guys serious or is it just time-pass?’

God, I‘ve been tired of hearing the word ‘aggressive’ from every mouth. It’s a negative word, not a positive one. Well, I promised not to talk on Grammatical mistakes. But this is the way a play should be written or a movie screenplay, not a book. Most of the pages in the book are full of conversations and for God’s sake, I’ve been tired of the following poor format:

(a statement or a question) as/and (subject) (some action).

For ex:

‘No,’, Dolly said as she twirled her straw. ‘Sorry…

‘You shouldn’t have!’ my mother said as she signaled the servant to pass the jalebis.

For God’s sake, I was desperate not to waste my time any more. I closed it and opened ‘Snow’. The very second paragraph in the second page read:

‘So let us take advantage of this lull to whisper a few biographical details. Although he’d spent twelve years in political exile in Germany, our traveler had never been much of an activist. His real passion, his only thought, was for poetry. He was forty-two years old, single and never married. Although it might be hard to tell with him curled up in his seat, he was tall for a Turk, and had brown hair and a pallid complexion that had become even paler during this journey. He was shy and enjoyed being alone. Had he known what happened soon after he fell asleep – with the swaying of the bus his head would come to lean first on his neighbor’s shoulder … and it continued.

Aah!!! That’s so beautiful… The beauty of literature… So neat, so clean. I wish I could meet Orhan Pamuk or J.M. Coetzee one day.

So my final verdict goes like:

1. Chetan has not improved a little. (Jessus!! He may be on the way to his 5^th book!!)
2. Forget Aravind Adiga, I doubt if Chetan has read any book in his life.

Oh, wait!! Why am I analyzing him?

Uncle Sam was shouting from the hall, “Close your books & analysis and join me. I am dancing to the tune of ‘Zoobi doobi zoobi doobi param pum’….”

I laughed.

Signature: God Bless You.

               Satyabrata.

Aah, I don’t have much expectation from this one and of course will not rush for the first day first show. But I guess it will refresh some college memories; bunking classes, roaming with girl friend, pulling legs and all those stuff… However I find myself murmuring….

Give me some sunshine

Give me some rain

Give me another chance

Wana grow up once again

Na Na NA

Na Na NA

Na Na NA

Uncle Sam said, “Another suitable song to play on guitar after ‘Kabhi Kabhi Aditi jindagi mein’ ….”

Signature: God Bless You.

               Satyabrata.

Every product says, “I’m better than others. That product doesn’t have this but I have that.” This is a very common and basic phenomenon. To survive in the market, one product needs to keep on updated with one finger pointed to a 20 year future. (Intel can be the best example.) Though we know no one uses those EXTREME features except the R&D team. However we come to know the backlogs of those EXTREME features in the next versions. They come again with some modifications and different colors.

Well, lately I observed…

1. Google has added a feature in Gmail to import mails & contacts from other IDs.
2. Orkut has been given a new look (I felt it similar to facebook).
3. Yahoo! Locals has been too good and mailbox is getting better.

In the contrary

1. I see no change in iGoogle.
2. Rediff and Indiatimes have been in hell though.

But why should I import my Yahoo! Mails & contacts to Gmail? I want to use Yahoo! Service, have a constant eye upon it. I really don’t know how many of them are going to adapt this feature, but I am not definitely going to use it.

It’s all an attempt to get unified… All in one.… Intelligent Marketing, huh!!

Uncle Sam said, “Rupa publisher is hitting the book market, All four Chetan Bhagat Books in one pack, 20% discount!!!”

Signature: God Bless You.

               Satyabrata.

What would be the value of diamonds,

If there would be rains of them…

And…

What would be the value of love,

If everyone would have found it…

Uncle Sam asked, “Is it out of realization or frustration?

Signature: God Bless You.

In the early morning,

I like to start my work…

Going in detail..

Looking to the monitor…

And hitting the keyboard…

Why should I talk while I work?

I attend meetings…

I attend sessions…

I listen to them..

I hear them..

I note down them…

Why should I talk then?

I accompany pals for lunch…

They talk on cricket in which I don’t have interest..

They talk on bollywood movies in which I don’t have interest either…

They talk on politics when I wish I could close my ears…

I like to savor my food, not grabbing…

Why should I talk then?

Sometimes I get free hours…

I listen to Bryan Adams or The Beatles..

I listen to Javed Akhtar or A R Rehman..

Or I open some history/literature books..

Or I glue to some hollywood flicks…

Whom will I talk to then….

And why should I talk?

Uncle Sam said, “Do you want to be a man of few words? Why do you shout on your blog page then?”

Signature: God Bless You.

               Satyabrata.

Well, eCos is not exactly RTOS but this defines a group of pointers to service functions and data called virtual vectors. The principal role of the virtual vectors is to allow services provided by a ROM startup configuration, such as a ROM monitor, to be accessed by a RAM startup configuration, the application being debugged. For example, during typical application development, the target hardware boots up using a ROM monitor, such as RedBoot. The application being debugged here is built using a RAM startup type. Then, the host running a debugger, such as GDB, uses a communication channel to download the application software and exchange debug information with RedBoot. It is also useful for the application to use this same communication channel for diagnostic messages, such as diag_printf. The application’s diagnostic code needs to be aware of the communication channel to use in order to output information. Therefore, either RedBoot needs to pass the communication channel information to the application during startup, or a level of indirection can be used. The level of indirection is a virtual vector, which offers a more general solution. Using this type of configuration we can eliminate the need for debug code from the user application because the ROM monitor provides this functionality.

Is that clear?

Now during typical development, the application does not need to be aware of the virtual vectors; diagnostic output is seamlessly routed to the appropriate communication channel. Use of virtual vectors makes it possible to debug user applications from an arbitrary channel. For example, if an application only contains a device driver for a serial port for its own communications, a ROM monitor can be used as an Ethernet port, with proper networking support, for debug communications. The user application does not need to contain an Ethernet device driver or networking stack because this is all handled by the ROM monitor. Since this Ethernet port debugging functionality can be eliminated from the user application, the result is a smaller image that only contains code used in the production release.

One issue with sharing resources between a ROM monitor and a user application is that the two are linked separately; therefore, each is unaware of the location of objects in the other’s address space. Virtual vectors are used to overcome this problem by providing a common structure with a defined layout that is known by the ROM monitor and user application. Virtual vectors are contained within the Virtual Vector Table (VVT). The VVT is then placed at a static memory location in the target address space, of which both the RAM application and ROM monitor are aware. The VVT, defined as hal_virtual_vector_table in the file hal_if.h under the common HAL subdirectory, is an array of 64 vectors. The actual location of the VVT is dependent on the HAL architecture and setup in the linker script file. Linker script files are located under the arch subdirectory and have a .ld extension. The memory, 256 bytes, for the VVT is allocated whether or not the VVT is used. The method for using the VVT varies depending on the functionality needed by the RAM application. Functions in the VVT can be implemented in the ROM monitor, the RAM application, disabled by installing pointers to dummy routines at certain locations, or control can be taken over at run time by reinitializing certain pointers in the VVT. In general, a loose policy for governing the VVT is that the ROM monitor or the standalone application initializes all vectors in the table. The RAM application can then reinitialize any services it needs to provide. The default configuration is that the ROM monitor provides the console and debugging I/O services, and the RAM application initializes all other services.

As usual Uncle Sam continued his conclusion, “Hope, it clears some basic fundamentals.”

Signature: God Bless You.

               Satyabrata.

When he began reading on the roof, I shrugged my shoulders and thought he might have felt the necessity of free air. But then of course he stayed for long time, longer than usual. A two hour unyielding reading would have improved the electromagnetic problem solving skill. But letting memory go away while the sun dropping down in the west made me anxious to scrutinize him.

Tarun was only twenty but looked even younger, owing to his smooth, childish face and long height. But he had always been older than his years, a quiet and reserved guy who never wandered across the street to spend the evenings. He had passed from the high school where my mother used to teach.

He had never been in love, how far I had known him for last one year. He never even looked at them though I used to hang around the girls in college canteen. In reality I was more surprised over this than him. It had certainly disturbed my thoughts when he was walking alone on the roof in the dark, damp night.

At first I was silent, and he, who was a bashful lad of that time felt tongue-tied and uncomfortable. I approached him, pitying his evident shyness, started to talk to him. He could talk well, I felt. And at the next moment I found him entering easily into the spirit of my piquant speeches. He had a strange feeling that he had never realized it before, I could pretty guess it. And he wished to keep that feeling alive within him.    

“Are you going to attend tomorrow’s chemistry lab?” I asked him, trying to read his thoughts.

“Yeah, sure, I will. Why should I miss the lab – practical experiments have always been guiding me to assure the exactness of theory part.”

There was a positive deterministic note in his voice. I detected it, not giving much time to continue, I said, “I am afraid if I can attend tomorrow’s lab. Harry Potter is screening with discount price for our college students.”

In the end, I had consented to go as my cell phone beeped a reminder to present Pooja a bucket of flower on the occasion of her mother’s birthday.

The next morning, after the theory class I looked for her. She was standing behind the library wall and she was dressed in what was for her unusual elegance. Her figure was strikingly symmetrical and softly curved.  

The fact that bags and cell phones were not allowed to the lab, I pushed my jacket into Pooja’s hands and rushed towards the chemistry lab, searched for Tarun’s bag, picked up his mobile from inside it and opened the inbox in a flash of second –

The first msg read, “I will be always there for you – Pooja.”

I threw my bag on the floor, rushed to the lab door and shouted at the loudest of my voice, “May I come in Sir?” and then the voice slowed down to say, “Sorry for being late Sir.”

Uncle Sam commented, “Poor plot, word construction needs to be more improved. Better luck next time.”

Signature: God Bless You.

Assertion Basics

The world around us is filled with objects that have various properties:

1. The grass is green (or yellow, if you forget to water it).
2. The sky is clear or cloudy.
3. Old watch in the drawer is broken.

Usually we notice static properties – snapshots of the situation in a given moment, but they typically have dynamic nature:

1.  The grass is green now, but will turn yellow if there is draught.
2.  The sky is clear now, but it will get cloudy when the weather system comes.
3.  The watch is broken, but will work again if you take it to the repair shop.

Let’s introduce some official logic terminology. If the property is true at given moment or over some period of time, we say that it holds (at that moment or over that period of time). We can formulate assertions about the objects: they are statements expressing desired properties that should hold (or undesired properties that should never hold). As long the desired property in the assertion holds (or the undesired property doesn’t hold), we consider everything okay and not in need of further concern. But when the desired property no longer holds (or the undesired property holds), assertion is violated and we want to be alerted to take action. Continuing our example, we can assert that the grass should always be green. If, for any reason, the grass starts turning yellow, we want to be alerted so that we can repair the sprinklers or take similar actions.

Assertions are the way of checking that bad things do not happen.

Sometimes being alerted that something bad happened is not enough: we want to be informed that everything is proceeding as planned. Using the idea of properties we can say that we want good (desired) properties to be covered, i.e. hold at least once during some process. Let’s say that you are leaving for a well deserved vacation, so you create a checklist of properties that should hold to leave with complete peace of mind: bills should be paid, lights turned off, water heater switched to „vacation‟ setting. If those properties are covered, we know that we have checked everything that we could to ensure a safe departure.

Coverage is the way of checking that good things happened!

In the world of digital design, properties are encountered on a daily basis: design specification documents are full of them, and engineers are translating them into synthesizable VHDL or Verilog descriptions. Of course specifications can formulate assertions about design properties, but someone or something must verify them. You guessed correctly: it is our verification tools task to verify assertions and inform you about any violations. Those tools also perform functional coverage analysis, but please note one subtle difference:

1. Assertions verify quality of the design by firing when something bad happened.
2. Coverage verifies quality of the test bench by informing you when all desired behaviors were tested.

Long story short, in well-behaved design you don’t want to see assertion messages, but do want to see lots of coverage messages.

Uncle Sam said, “I guess, it helps and clears.”

Signature: God Bless You.

                Satyabrata.

With the guitar on my lap, my arm going through the strings and adjusting its tunes, I was placidly repeating, ‘18 till I die…’ The prospect of pursuing artistic studies at home is not a brilliant idea. But being very much sincere about doing what you like gives an immense and different pleasure towards the end. The practice has been over for the day, in the weekend, I stayed quiet. So I should indulge myself in a blissful dinner after my own heart. I thought to myself, as I locked my little room and prepared to enjoy a few minute walking to the nearest Punjabi Hotel.

This tiny space so called Punjabi Hotel of size 15ft x 5ft, situated at a road side attracts hundreds of people every day preparing homely vegetarian dishes like aloo fry, baigan fry, rajma, cabbage, cully flower and paneer etc with less oil and mirchi. There is a crowd to take seat and for parcel. It has been hygienic and cheap to have food there and I have been a daily customer.

“Where is Govind? I had last seen him a week before.” I asked the other guy.

“He freed himself Sir. He was looking for work at his home town, for we are stupid as owls here to work at thousand kilometers away from native.” There was a sudden huskiness in the guy’s voice though he tried to make believe that it was. I knew a word about home would comfort him. So I went on with my questions,

“It is very hard. Do you leave a family?”

“My old mother and a sick brother…”

“Oh, I see.” I said little reluctantly and ordered for two rotis with a palak dal. On the way back to room, my mind drifted towards Govind, a fourteen-fifteen year guy with an ever smile on his face and a red scraf bound tight on his head.

4 months back ---

My Mom was with me during her summer vacation and that was a Friday evening when we had an official party. 60ml of Blender’s Pride with 90ml of coke and regular size three ice cubes (On earth I only know how I came out of that dangerous addiction!!!) was on the table when I thought of Mom, what she would have in her dinner. I excused myself from the table and came outside. It was raining heavily. “But I would be late to reach room”, I thought to myself, reached for my cell phone and dialed Govind.

“Govind, Sahoo this side. I need your help.” I cried out.

“Tell me.” He blurted out as words were not clear due to heavy water drops.

“I’m outside and will be late. Mom is there in room. Could you please parcel some rotis and sabji for her and deliver to her?”

In that tiny shop, there are only two guys, one as a cashier and the other as a waiter. There is no such home-delivery rule there. In addition to that Govind didn’t have any idea of my room location. There was absolutely zero probability that he would answer yes to my request.

“Where is your room?”

And there he was, looking up; with a smile on his brave brown face in my imagination. I never expected him to deliver the parcel. But he did that; in that heavy rain, dark night.

After few days Mom left, telling me to give Govind a diary milk chocolate to which I said yes gladly. And that time never turned up. Whenever I visited the shop, my mind reminded me to give him a choco but before that it got lost on the mid way.

As I unlocked the door last night with a gloomy face, my mind advised me, “Sometimes it’s better to have an impatient attitude – it’s now or never.”

Uncle Sam asked, “What’s the difference between the uses of assertion & verification in Virtex and Spartans?”

Signature: God Bless You.

              Satyabrata. 

Some quotes I murmur while I drive.

1. The first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want. Ben Stein
2. The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive. Robert Heinlein
3. Wear the old coat and buy the new book. Austin Phelps
4. Life-transforming ideas have always come to me through books. Bell Hooks
5. My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music, and silence. Edith Sitwell
6. I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book. Groucho Marx

7. Truth is the only safe ground to stand on. Elizabeth Cady Stanton

8. Such is the inconsistency of real love, that it is always awake to suspicion, however unreasonable; always requiring new assurances from the object of its interest. Ann Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho, 1764

9. There's an evolutionary imperative why we give a crap about our family and friends. And there's an evolutionary imperative why we don't give a crap about anybody else. If we loved all people indiscriminately, we couldn't function. David Foster, House M.D., TB or Not TB, 2005

10. Sometimes when you look back on a situation, you realize it wasn't all you thought it was. A beautiful girl walked into your life. You fell in love. Or did you? Maybe it was only a childish infatuation, or maybe just a brief moment of vanity. Henry Bromel, Northern Exposure, The Big Kiss, 1991

11. Sexually, we are all competing for the same seat on the bus and the thing that holds it together is the tightly held conceit that we are all sexual gods. How can I believe in my own uniqueness when there's a cat out there exactly the same as me? Jeff Melvoin, Northern Exposure, Altered Egos, 1993

And I reach my single room.

Uncle Sam greeted me, saying, “All philosophies, if you ride them, are nonsense, but some are greater nonsense than others. Samuel Butler. By the way, where goes your favorite quote, “HE sets the rules in opposition”?”

Signature: God Bless You.

                Satyabrata.

Gone are the days when I was murmuring day & night and watching the video all time in the PC (college days):

It’s my life,

Take it or leave it, set me free

What’s that crap-papa-know-it-all? I got my own life..

Live your life and set me free, mind your business

And leave my business you know everything papa-know-it-all

Very little knowledge is dangerous

Stop bugging me, stop bothering me

Stop bugging me, stop forcing me

Stop fighting me, stop yelling me

It’s my life.

It’s my life, my worries.

It’s my life, my problems.

Do you understand?

I live the way I want to live.

I make decisions day and night.

Show me signs and good examples.

Stop telling people how to run your business

Take a trip to east and west

You find that you don’t know anything

Everyone’s getting tired of you sometime

You have to look and listen

You can even learn from me little knowledge is dangerous

It’s my life.

Set me free, so you bed so you lie

What you see is what you get listen to people and sort things out

Things I do I do them no more things I say I say them no more

Changes come once in life

Stop bugging me, stop bothering me.

Stop bugging me, stop forcing me.

Stop fighting me, stop yelling me.

Stop telling me, stop seeing me.

It’s my life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KH5DSoQ4wvU&feature=related

Uncle Sam wondered, “What’s there in the song that you liked.”

Signature: God Bless You.

              Satyabrata.

I want to read on Space…

I want to read on History…

I want to read on Literature…

Yeah, I have zero knowledge on the former twos and little on the later though…

I want to read from R. K. Narayan…

I want to read from P. G. Wodehouse…

I want to read from J.M. Coetzee (he has been my favorite)…

I want to read from Doris Lessing…

I want to read many more…

Hey!! Soul Mountain, Hitch Hiker’s Guide, SAKI

Are waiting to be unfolded in my rack…

Hey again!!! Mistress of the Game, The Lost Symbol, Two States

Are waiting to be purchased from the stores…

I don’t want to miss any one of them…

What shall I do?

What can I do?

I wish I could stop the time…

Uncle Sam advised, “Engage yourself in reading, escaping from the ruthless reality.”

Signature: God Bless You.

               Satyabrata.

It’s the same winter again,

Too hot in summer and too cold in winter…

That’s the game of the nature…

Maintaining its customs…

When there is no change…

Life gets monotonous…

Even though the seasons change…

Your costumes change….

But life doesn’t change!!!

Hours pass..

Days pass…

Months pass…

And suddenly I realize, “Time doesn’t wait for any one”!!!

Again I realize I’m still sleeping…

I try to clear my vision…

But near objects look blurred…

At a distant I see the dark night through the open window…

But I can’t see any stars…

Have they disappeared or clouds have covered…

A twinkling star would have woken me to reach the window…

Then I take a turn on the bed…

And I close my eyes…

Feeling the winter again under the blanket…

Before I like a song, the singer must love it…

Before I like a dish in a restaurant, the cook must love it…

Before I like a book, the Author must love writing it…

Before some one likes my blog, I must love scribbling it…

Before I like an India victory, Dhoni must love batting (As yesterday)…

Whatever the profession may be, the subject must love the action to welcome the success, putting his/her heart into it though the reverse is not true. (Success has no definition, is never guaranteed).

Still searching for…

What I love…

What’s my goal…

Where do I want to stand…

Uncle Sam advised, “And there goes the difference between an ordinary life and extraordinary life.”

Signature : God Bless You.

                Satyabrata.