The Rebelle blog

Here I am, writing the last blog post for 2015. What a wonderful year this has been! It felt like a dream, an adventure and I also had my share of a miserable few hours, but, nothing compares this year to the others. I have felt new, super charged and have had more faith than the last few years put together. 2015 gave me beautiful new people as friends, as family (I became an aunt to a nephew and niece), renewed my interest in a lot of things I had forgotten in the rat race and bought new challenges forward. I eagerly look towards 2016 for new and better opportunities, new experiences and a new me who will be brimming with happiness and enthusiasm and not be afraid of failures. I look forward to new memories and everlasting love for my beloved and good health and kindness among all. Here's to a year of peace for all, happiness, kindness and equal opportunities for the ones who deserve better and a lot more than they had earlier. Hello, 2016!

As I reread excerpts from Rilke's Letters to a young poet while also rummaging through my memory for old images from a time long ago, it amuses me how much life is entwined within poetry and fiction. The late Swedish poet, Tomas Transtromer wrote in The Blue House about the open terrain which was once a garden and now wilderness, the house resembling a child's drawing. I am intrigued by that drawing. I wonder if it will have a small red roofed house with a chimney and flower garden, with blue skies and the sun shining bright over a small pathway lined with shrubs. This is my drawing. It has fascinated me all these years, refusing to fade from my memory. Many other things have been forgotten but this house with its red roof stands fresh and surprisingly in 2D. Transtromer writes about an amateur painting hung over the bed representing a ship with seventeen sails, rough sea and a wind which the gilded frame cannot subdue, The wind blows in my hair and sends a chill down my

My first computer was in 1998 and I remember being excited, curious and a bit nervous about handling it. Dad showed me how to switch it on and off and the first application I ever worked on was MS Paint. My first drawing was a house or an attempt of drawing a house, that is. The neighbourhood uncle came and saw me painting on the computer. He stood next to me and was surprised at my Dad letting me use the new machine, his words. It was wonderful. I would come home from school and use the computer, mostly paint. One of the themes that played while the computer started was "Can't fight the moonlight" sung by LeAnn Rimes from the movie, "Coyote Ugly". I was very amused and fascinated by the starting lines of the song. To a child, new things bring lot of joy. My Dad taught me using Word, Power point and it was a great source of entertainment to explore and make new slides in PP. Internet was not yet available back then at my place. But I was too young to use i

Post-exam contemplations throw a lot of weird thoughts in my mind! They make me restless, almost anxious and leave a severe bitter feeling as to the possible career mistakes I've made so far. Yes, it happens. The urban planning and development reading material already made me ponder over the unemployment and youth factors of which, turns out, I am quite an active member. I am a voluntarily unemployed person according to the definitions in the textbooks. But we know better than to believe these definitions, don't we? I saw a particularly funny GIF that showed a young man in beard running recklessly through a dense forest with the caption- young people tired with society are running into wilderness. My first thought was, what are 'we' young people running away from? What does society do to us or we to society that we feel like running away from civilization? I really believe we are rebels without a cause. Most of us, that is. We get bored easily, tired quickly, disi

http://theladiesfinger.com/2015-is-ending-where-are-the-women/ And while we read this article, I am also reading about the murder of Allison Baden-Clay, 43, a Brisbane resident who was killed by her husband in April 2012 and now the court verdict is out wherein he won the appeal against his murder conviction instead being accused of manslaughter. So yes, such judgements get passed not only in India but everywhere in the world. A woman is murdered and all the court does is convicts her husband of manslaughter, not murder. How convenient for the judiciary! The Reeva Steenkamp murder verdict proved how blinded the legal system is! Her cold blooded murderer got away with an 'accidental self-defence' argument. He'll live the rest of his life, alive and doing things while that young woman will lay forgotten. That is what is happening with women! We don't exist- we don't matter, unless we speak up. At least a voice is a reminder to the other gender to look around and s

So this comes from an article I read early in the morning today on Medium. It's written on the likes of Dark complexion and girls like the author who herself has one, embracing the skin and experimenting with bright colours on her body. She writes of some incident where her bright yellow outfit and bobbed hair with bright pink lipstick got censored by some women at a body shop. As I kept reading the article and came to the end where the author posted her pictures in different bright coloured outfits she wore, I thought about the need felt by us women to still justify our choices whether they are regarding make-up or our hairstyle or the most important of them all, clothes. One recent personal experience of mine that I think is quite harmless to write about here is when during a friend's wedding, this common girl friend of ours gave me some jewellery to wear because it went with my outfit, applied a dash of lipstick and blusher on my face while telling me it looks great on

Sometimes I wish I'd documented all my thoughts about dismantling patriarchy in a diary or a journal when I was younger. I wish this now, because I recently read some letters I'd written to a distant friend on role of women in workplaces and this uneven household/work system. And I realised my thoughts on certain books like Wuthering Heights or Virginia Woolf's writings and Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar have undergone a slight change. Maybe I was young, back when I first read these books. I was disappointed by the portrayal of women and it marred my understanding about the quality of life 19th century women lived in. SO, the thoughts on tramping patriarchy also arose from two recent incidents seen in India. One, the Happy to Bleed project which started as a reaction to some Temple Trustee's atrocious remarks against menstruating women in Kerala, by women of all age groups on Twitter and other social media. The other is the story of a woman breaking a 400 year old t

I love showing people around this city I love so much! Mumbai- city of dreams, hard work, happy spirits and a melting pot of people from all over India. Truly, it gives an opportunity to everyone. So, when a school friend called up one fine sunday morning to give news that he was in town, we quickly arranged a monday meet. Place of meeting- Victoria Terminus- Trust me no one can get lost here. Although it's said that most people get lost at railway stations, not at this terminus. Our wonderful encounter started with walking past Azad Maidan, through khau galli (eatery lane in english, though its not a formal name!), catching up on the last few years. The stroll through leafy enclaves in Marine Lines made us aware we were starving throughout. A sumptuous meal accompanied with Cranberry Juice and buying Tinkle issues for ourselves which we later signed for each other made for a great laughter session. I kept pointing Art Deco structures, and spouting history too. My friend is a pa

Sleep eludes me at this hour. Although I feel strained physically, my brain seems super active. I would like to sleep, but lot of thoughts and ideas keep clashing in my mind. My Dad surprised me today with a giant Phaidon Press book on 20th century World Architecture. It's humongous, literally. I have always wanted to build up an architecture collection at my home library. A Phaidon Press book is like a dream come true. It seemed like a luxury to buy when I was in College. I hungrily devoured the index and happily got lost in the pages. Sometimes its overbearing to be capable of feeling so much joy! A school friend who is visiting after seven years has been pumping positive energy and lots of happy spirits into me. I realize, I was once an extremely happy person. Not that I am unhappy now. But that spark seems missing. Of course, my brain knows we all grow out of our likes and dislikes in life, and hence, I feel normal about this current state of mind. I shared the phai

While testing myself for some administrative exams, I stumbled upon the following statement- A 'norm' is a shared expectation or behaviour that connotes to what is considered culturally desirable and appropriate. If that is indeed the definition then we must introspect our role and responsibilities while blatantly passing negative statements about the Refugees and Refugee Crisis. To blame refugees for the terrorist attacks is one of the most illogical thoughts circulating in our society. As humans, are we going to ever think rationally regarding grievances of other humans without measuring their nationality or patriotism or religious affinity? When I read about the hateful thoughts accorded to refugees, I am ashamed to be not able to do anything to stop such propaganda circulating in the masses. Do we really want to inch towards another world war? Do people honestly think that a war and extermination of minorities will lead to peace in the world? I know there are people w

गुलज़ार- उनकी बातों में, और शब्दों में जो सादगी है, जिसे हम सब तराशते रह जाते है और अनदेखा भी कर देते है क्योंकी आस पास की चमक इतनी तेज है। कुछ सच्चे और सीधे 'लब्ज़' की तलाश में, मैं निकली हूँ। छोटी-छोटी बातों में ख़ुशी नजर आने के लिए अपनी आँखों और सोच का दायरा बढ़ाना जरूरी हो गया है। हमारी 'जिंदगी' की परिभाषा भी कितनी सुलझी हुई और उसी वक़्त कितनी गहरी होती है। सभी से तो हम बात नहीं कर पाते है, मगर क्या ख़ामोशी की जुबान समझने वाले लोग, सिर्फ अब उंगलियों पर गिनने की तादाद में रह गए है? ऐसे लोगों से हमारी मुलाकातें कम क्यों हो गयी है? क्या उन्हें अपनी ख़ामोशी से इतना प्यार होता है, की वो किसी और को अपने इर्द- गिर्द तो आने देते है, पर अपने अंदर की गहराइयों में झाँकने का मौका नहीं देते? क्या इसीलिए, 'कविता' का जन्म हुआ, जो रूह की आवाज को जुबान पर ला देती हैं?! I must be suffering from mid-week crisis! Why else would I feel such a load of emotions within me? I am tempted to dance. But just the thought of putting up a performance for a friend's wedding has me all f

It's chaos all over in my head. Or wait, why do I feel the need to classify it as chaos? This never ending dimensional crisis to our personalities has put me in a fix- literally. One of my best friends from school, someone I know since I was six years old was going through such a big crisis in his life. He called me a few years ago when my number was the only one he remembered and my advice mattered to him, and I didn't respond then. How guilty do I feel now on learning that he needed my help. A simple gesture of listening to his problem on the phone could have bought him some peace. But I was adamant over something back then. We had had the biggest fight over something that in early 20's felt like it mattered a lot. Friendship is a vague term, a place holder actually. There's nothing like friendship that lasts forever, or a friendship where everything is perfect. No, nothing of this sort exists. We constantly evolve and grow out of our immaturity and keep balancing o

Although I have exams next week, yesterday I watched two movies. One directed by Aparna Sen and the other by Shonali Bose- Mr & Mrs Iyer and Amu. Both have accounts pertaining to riots. After news came about the Paris Attacks yesterday, it dawned upon me that my life has been so sheltered, away from the grimness the previous decades had. Maybe because I am not directly affected or involved in any of these gruesome events. But that also made me question if my generation or me, are we rebels without a cause? Then today, I was fiddling with my new phone, trying to understand its workings when I accidentally set up some theme which has a serene scenic background as my wallpaper and a bright blue cup with a rusty silver spoon laid on a dark blue table cloth on a mahogany table as my screensaver. Because I love intricate and antique things I like having them on my phone or computer as wallpapers. And I have taken quite a fancy to this bright blue cup. Somehow it makes me feel that

AAH, Annie! I remember the first time I heard Arundhati Roy's name. It was in 1996-97 when she won the Booker Prize for her novel, The God of Small Things. It was considered as a major achievement by a young novelist, Indian, mind you at that time. I still remember her frozen image on the TV screen, the curls dominating her delicate face something about which made her so different and stand out from the crowd. About a decade later, I entered Architecture school. I was still fascinated and hugely obsessed with her. She became a one time writer, published that one and only novel, won the booker and was an architect by education. It was enough to be transfixed with her. In the very first week of architecture school, we, first years were gathered in the big seminar hall and shown "In which Annie gives it those ones". When I saw the title I thought, what kind of absurd grammar error was that. Then, Arundhati Roy's name flashed on the screen and I kept my patience. Th

आज आमच्याकडे चार दिवस पाणी नसल्याकारणाने पाण्याची भीषण दाहकता प्रत्यक्षात फर्स्ट hand अनुभव करतोय. इतके दिवस मराठवाड्याला पाणी नाही, शेतकरी कुटुंबांची हतबलता फक्त पेपर मध्ये, बातम्यांमधून वाचत, ऐकत होतो. आज तीच परिस्थिती आम्हा शहरी भागात राहणाऱ्या लोकांवर आल्यामुळे खरं जगण्यातली विवशता आज आम्हाला कळतेय. आपण शहरी लोक फारच लाडावलेलो आहोत. जगण्याच्या सगळ्या सुविधा अक्षरश: लोटांगण घालतात आपल्यासमोर म्हणून अर्थातच आपल्याला किंमत नाही कसलीच. ह्याच जीवनोपयोगी गोष्टींसाठी जेव्हा जबर लढा द्यावा लागतो ना, तेव्हा त्यातली भयाण अस्वस्थता समोर येते. आज पिण्यासाठी देखील पाणी नाही म्हणून जेव्हा दुकानातून काही लिटर्स मध्ये पाणी विकत आणायला लागलं तेव्हा अर्धा ग्लास पाणी पिऊन ते फेकून टाकणाऱ्या असंख्य लोकांचे चेहरे माझ्या डोळ्यासमोरून तरळून गेले. आपण सगळेच बेफिकीरीने वागतो. किंबहुना आपल्या वागण्याचं समर्थन आपल्याला द्यावं लागत नाही एखाद्या एजन्सीला किंवा पर्यावरण watch संस्थेला म्हणून पण हा स्वभाव झाला. यात चुकीचं काहीच नाही हीच आपली मानसिकता. माझ्या थोड्याशा पाण्याच्या अपव्ययामुळे कुठे एवढा फरक पड

One of my friends plays county cricket and we usually get to meet just once a year or sometimes once in two years or so. Cricket is a gentleman's game or so they said. Well, it certainly seemed like one during my Dad's time. My friend plays a lot of rough cricket. He also plays rugby and frequently sees his team mates getting injured. He himself is also prone to a lot of injuries. His mother completely hates his love for the game and has tried to dissuade him for years from playing. This month, when my friend came home he showed a few brilliant clips from the game to his mum. Unfortunately, she wasn't impressed. So, me, my friend, his brother and a few other friends decided to play a live game for his mum. It started off brilliantly. I had forgotten the thrill and the high spirits associated with playing cricket. To view the game on TV is thrilling, but to play it in person is so much more challenging yet fun too. The last time I played cricket was when I was 12 with my c

बचपन में स्कूल में मैंने दो बादलों की कहानी पढ़ी थी। एक काला और दूसरा सफ़ेद। काला बादल अपने जीवन का उत्कर्ष ढूंढ रहा था। सफ़ेद बादल को उत्कर्ष पहले ही प्राप्त हो चूका था। तो लेखक को यह सूचित करना था की मनुष्य का जीवन परोपकार की भावना से ओतप्रोत हो तो वह अपना उत्कर्ष स्वयं ही ढूंढ पाता है। यह कहानी मेरे मन में बसी हुई है इसलिए की जिस उम्र में मैंने यह पढ़ी थी तब अच्छाई और नेकी यह गुणविशेषताएँ हमें हमारे जीवन का सर्वोच्च परिमाण के रूप में बतलाई गयी थी। आज किसी गाने में मैंने 'एक भटकता बादल' यह लफ्ज़ सुने और मुझे बचपन की नेकी भरी वह सीख याद आयी। सच ही तो हैं के हम अपनी आस्था और अपने स्वभाव विशेष का मेल रखते हुए जीवन कंठित करते हैं। कोई भी नयी चीज़ अपनाते हुए पहले सहमे होते है और पुरानी चीज़ों को अलविदा करते हुए उतने ही भावुक। यही भाव तो हमें समूचे प्राणी जगत में सर्वश्रेष्ठ ठहराते है। कई बार अपनी स्मृतियों की गंगा में बहते हुए हम न जाने कितने ही साल, घंटे और लम्हें पार कर जाते है। जब यादें याद आती हैं, तब हम उन्हें एक तीसरे दायरे से देखते है। कई बार तो मैं किसी अनजान जगह पर खड़े ह

I have always believed in having a healthy dialogue for resolving issues. Hence, the restlessness that has kept up with me over breaking up with a friend on some misunderstanding is hopefully about to end in a few days. We are slated to meet. I took the initiative, though I had to enlist our common friend to do that. We have such immense potential to be better beings and yet we restrict ourselves with unnecessary squabbles and ego hassles. When I was younger, I remember walking away if anybody ever quarrelled with me. I wasn't good at speaking up for myself. I thought 'less the said' was better. Now, after going through a rigorous world of architecture school and the professional world, and of course, growing up to the point as to clearing up indifferences, it's advisable always to say 'only' things that matter. Mostly, we tend to flow in the stream of past mistakes, which we have analysed a thousand times in our head. It's really beneficial to speak o

It's my father's birthday today! And although, we don't celebrate it with much fanfare, though my mother bakes a cake each year, this year I've baked a cake for him, all by myself. I hope he likes it. I haven't ever gifted him anything on his birthday yet. But this year, I hope to give him a belated birthday gift by qualifying for the civil service exams that I undertook recently. Because, he has always encouraged me and allowed me the liberty to pursue whatever I've ever taken a keen interest in, I hope it will truly make him happy and proud of me. Here's a happy picture from some happy memories of us together. Love you, Dad.

Ever since I was a child, I heard my Dad constantly speak of moral values to me. And not just speak about them, I've seen these being practised too. Integrity and Character are two important assets that I've learned from my father. He always stressed on importance of character in a person. To him, honesty, morality, integrity, compassion are not merely words or virtues but essential components (yes, I use this word!) for all of us to live with in this world. So today something happened that shattered my belief in honesty of character. I kept thinking about how idiotic people like me exist in this world who still trust people with all their heart. We mustn't, clearly. But then it also made me think about kindness and the loyalty that still exists. So why are there such contrasting feelings being played by people? What joy do certain people get from breaking someone's trust? My anger subsided relatively easily when I realized that we cannot take responsibility for peop

Today I received a reply from a friend to something I had messaged her about 37 weeks ago. That's almost a year. For a second, I went utterly clueless as to what context it referred to. A lot of strange things can happen over delayed responses, missed messages, phone texts. Our fast lives can hardly accommodate everything. Add to it, the woes of missed replies to emails and texts and it creates havoc in our lives. Or maybe it isn't that important. We might just be too dependent on all these extra mediums of contact. Didn't our ancestors or why go that far, our parents and grandparents communicate despite lacking internet messaging services or cell phone texts and emails? While I kept thinking as to what to reply to her message because we no longer speak to each other, I just decided to go silent. Not reply at all. After all, it's been a year now. I don't even fancy doing whatever I had proposed in the text back then. It was making a list of books. Certainly, it&#

Festivals have ceased to make me happy since a couple of years. They don't carry the same innocence and excitement any more. And since India is a nation that celebrates culture and life so vivaciously, it's weird to feel this way about culture. Really, but what is culture? Is it merely being happy and celebrating and spending money while many more can't afford a one-time meal? I think it is. We have commercialized and categorized celebrations too. Festivals no longer bring happiness because while the rich can splurge however they wish the poor worry about meeting expenses and trying to make their children not feel the brunt of being helpless and poor. Do they not have any right to be happy any more? And when I see this blatant display of wealth everywhere with not an iota of discomfort on the faces of those who are flaunting it, it makes me wonder as to whether we have ceased being humans after all? Poverty can't make everyone move to tears. Why don't we, the commo

I missed a dear friend's Bridal Shower. Something that me and a few other friends were planning since a month. Uncertainty is such a game twister. When we are so excited about something, and looking forward to it, and this disappointment creeps in. It has happened with me quite a many times. When it happened in childhood, I would sulk and forget about it. Now when it happens, I go back in time, think about the preparations, excitement, my happy state of mind and the sulk returns and never goes for a long time. Usually it reflects on the family. I blame them if they are responsible or I do torture my own self constantly thinking about what an ungrateful friend I am. I must say, it spirals me into a near depression state and its the worst feeling ever to let down people you love. This time, a lot of things happened in succession. First, my phone gave up, then I had some health (ENT + Dental) issues, which surprised and terrified me. And, it just makes me feel so guilty evermore

Some books never leave us. They remain fixed in our minds and psyche. One such that remains in mine is A Tree grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith.  The title of this novel refers to a tree that grows persistently up through the concrete and harsh conditions of a poor tenement neighbourhood in early 1900's Brooklyn. It also symbolises Francie Nolan's struggle through her life. When I first read it in 2010, I was going through a very important academic submission- an Architecture  thesis. As I read through the pages, I looked at Francie as myself. I grew up with her along the pages. She lived in me. I remember sobbing, and crying while reading her plight but she also gave me tremendous courage and filled me with an undying fighter spirit. The book was written in 1943 and describes a turn of the century story of the Nolans from 1900-1919. I recall reading and visualising Francie sitting in the Fire Escape harbouring dreams of an education and better life for her family and herself.

I was rummaging through some old stuff at home after a tedious week of last minute panic attacks and submissions (these two go hand in hand), that I came across an old copy of my Dad's books. As was my Dad's habit in the late 90's, the book was covered with a plain white sheet. I saw the book title written in neat lettering in blue ink and lots of pencil scribble on the cover. As I guessed it to be made by my younger sister who must've been a toddler then, I couldn't help smiling and opening the book to find more scribbling inside in blue ink. She must have got hold of the pen and unleashed her creativity on the inside pages. I wondered if my Dad ever saw this scribbling or not. And I felt extremely happy to have discovered something that belonged to my kid sister from her childhood. As I recall, she learnt everything pretty fast- walking, running, speaking and writing, too. So this scribble felt like a cherished piece of treasure. I remembered the walls of our dr

I don't think I ever wrote about my love for postcards and postcrossing ventures here. They bring such warm memories. :) I used to eagerly wait for the postman every afternoon. After lunch, and again in the evening I would race downstairs to check mails. And, my joy would know no bounds once I saw some familiar colourful rectangular cards. I would squeal and squeak with delight. I loved reading what the senders wrote to me. Usually, about their lives, their towns, or their love for art history like mine. Every single card with its thickness and the postage stamps brought indescribable happiness to me. Those days I was going through some depressing and stressful times, on academic and professional front as well. These cards perked me up and gave me a reason to believe in kindness and the thirst for human relations across the seas and oceans, across continents. I received many cards from Germany and Russia and each one of them was so thoughtful and carefully picked for me.

Isn't it an absolute delight when our deeds or thoughts touch or inspire people? I love this feeling. It's a very small achievement on our part as human beings. To bring some happiness in someone's life without changing our attitude, is in itself an act of kindness. Since we've become so self-centered and obsessed with our own individual lives, such little things do bring happiness. I feel immensely good within my heart to hear someone being touched by my small act. One quote that really got my attention today was this- "I think one of the greatest feelings in the world is when someone openly tells you how much you mean to them. Stuff like that is so rare."  This just took me back into so many memories where when I was told this I didn't like it because I didn't trust the people saying that to me. How naive and foolish I was! I loathed their affection with such distrust. I was learning and I would like to believe I learn from my past mistakes. So

Good mornings bring such a good feeling especially if they happen to be sundays. I woke up a tad too early today owing to the the fact that I completed my quota of essential sleep. That feeling of waking up feeling so fresh and positive made me so happy. I am still brimming from all this good energy I feel within myself. :) :) Also, a clean and clutter free room gives immense peace to the mind. I realised how messy I have made the entire house, right from the living room to the bedroom by keeping books everywhere. And, I don't stack them in shelves because I need them in front of my eyes all the time. But this is a really bad habit. A chaotic and messy room gives bad vibes and a very distracted feeling. I have felt it all the time and I blamed it on my ever so swinging mood and bad temperament. One reason is clutter. So, clean up the clutter, empty the room and your minds of negative spaces. And take a walk in the outside sun. It works wonders. Sunshine is the natu

How I love reading poetry! I can't recall the first poem I ever read. I remember we started by reading poetry in school syllabus. But it was being explained to us by a teacher, analysed and taught in their interpretation. My first experience of a poem thus remains unknown and undiscovered. Now that I do know that I like reading poetry, I usually write down entire poems or the few lines that have intrigued me. I have realised that poems convey so much more than prose does. A few lines can affect our psyche so acutely, I often wonder how do the poets do this. Many of them say they write what they see and feel, only in less words. I find this extraordinary. I have known some people who have poetry on their tongue. They can recite lines after lines with an impact that could numb senses. Because of easy access to Internet these days, it has become very easy to search poetry. A few years earlier, when I had just discovered that Charlotte Bronte also wrote poetry, I searched so

Some people have the amazing power to play with our minds. Perhaps, we ourselves give them that key to messing with our heads. Howsoever much I try to move on from the hurt, betrayal and disappointment, she comes to haunt me again! Indeed, this must be re-playing with top speed inside my brain. And out of decency and respect, when I haven't even disclosed our problems to anyone, she questions me about it. Is this being straightforward or people have no shame? I dislike venting and harsh words, because I believe in forgiving and forgetting. This, however, is stuck to me like an ancient ghost. I have decided to stop responding. Enough now. If it's affecting me so much why should I give it so much importance? Detachment from all evils and sins, is the mantra. A cup of green tea should do some wonders. And, the only solution to this is immersing myself in work. In fact, all broken hearted, jilted people must adopt this! Drown in good things- work, studies, reading, an hobby,

I've been talking to a lot of people these days. This is for one of them. While interacting with different age groups, I've realised how much I get to learn from them. Sometimes I've felt too stagnated and opinionated on certain issues, these people help clear the fog instantly. Also it's a great idea to put forth our views without feeling repressed or judgemental about them too. I believe when such freedom of thought is accorded, people open up more comfortably and the conversation gets a direction. In this age of instant communication mediums, we've lost that subtle art of expressing our feelings. There are a hundred messages from our coworkers and friends and acquaintances all that begin and stop within two sentences usually: "Hi. What's up? Been long." Not that I wouldn't be happy when someone I haven't spoken to in ages greets me first, but the happiness is really short lived when I discover we don't have anything to carry further ou