Sudipta's Life

The home-office transit time in Mumbai, when I was working, was a full hour door-to-door. The company provided shuttle buses, with the standard three-seat two-seat combination. Unfortunately, like most "non"-luxury buses, the seat for three actually had space for two (and a half, if you insist); and the two-seater was best suited for one person. This made the commute kind of, shall we say, 'stuffy'. I know what you're thinking: "If you want to get yourself to the office on a Volvo bus, dude, you're in the wrong job!". I knew that, even then (yeah, imagine the genius). But my roommate and I devised some strategies to ensure that we retained our three-seater to the two of us for as long as possible. Yes, the same Mr. Q , of Dubai fame. So if you are one of those lonely souls traveling to your office on the company bus in Mumbai every day, and want to catch up your uninterrupted beauty nap early in the morning, read on... this one is for you! Initiall

I am a leaf. I am a thought, a story. I am a plot which formed in the author's mind some time ago. That day, the sun had risen after a long time from the misty night. The cold dampness of the evening before was gone. Yes, some days of yore were sunny. The author had written posts which everyone applauded, leaves had sprung forth to spread the green, and the tree had basked in the sunlight. But then the evening came. Unfinished thoughts, vague echoes in dark alleys echoed through the woods and the tree was engulfed in a dense fog. It was the night. That morning, the tree just knew that the sun was rising. The first rays of the sun hit the bud where I was to be born. The mist cleared, and the horizon was suddenly showing itself. A thousand new ideas across a sparkling skyline shone bright, as if in the delight my me being born. A drop of the fresh dew formed in heaven and dropped on the branch. I, the story, was born. I have growed since then. A random sentence here, a little incid

It is a kingly jest when kings hold out their palms to beg. However, when you weild as much influence as a king, and yet steal from the common man, you are nothing more than a petty thief. More so when you claim to report the unbiased truth, but don't have a conscience of your own. Yes, I'm talking of unacknowledged filching of images and text from bloggers by the mainstream print media in India. It is funny, really... how these newspapers get away with it. Look at the recent example from Shrinidhi 's blog: they just posted it there with no acknowledgement of the source. From a respectable newspaper, you'd expect permission to copy, and some negotiation for monetary compensation. Unfortunately, the Slimes of India believes that they at a higher state of spiritual enlightenment than any respectable newspaper, and hence " Raam naam japna paraya maal apna ". After all, the advaita philosophy preaches the Oneness of all creation, and hence the Theives of India do