tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55731505477750097222024-03-19T09:09:11.098+05:30Captive Of ThoughtsDew drops falling off a leave, to which it no more belonged. Welcome to my blog, a sentence, without a full stop. by Tanishq Sharma.Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-58952000978759711622015-01-09T15:52:00.000+05:302015-01-09T15:52:53.026+05:30A Soldier's Wish<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSfCebst1BWH8i2XzrVv1QlRFQqXq_nAJwuBU77Tlg3ztDUSMBQx2x8MAG6B6Zh1att7M6jUS3UbgjJOFnWRnJrHyFbUxuf3h11163uy587oNUpFP4aBaKccjjTiyldeeNWn4vmPuafk6/s1600/a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSfCebst1BWH8i2XzrVv1QlRFQqXq_nAJwuBU77Tlg3ztDUSMBQx2x8MAG6B6Zh1att7M6jUS3UbgjJOFnWRnJrHyFbUxuf3h11163uy587oNUpFP4aBaKccjjTiyldeeNWn4vmPuafk6/s1600/a.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Three bullets in all – one on the elbow, one on thigh and
one straight to the chest. I was thankful of wearing a chest guard that day. It
was my work, killing people is what I am paid for, people also disguise us as <i>soldiers. </i>There is not a single day,
when we are spared of cross-firing. The wound on my chest is now covered with a
shiny gold medal, which brightly displayed my name, and a certificate which I
held, mentioning the concession of money to my family. I try to measure the
pain of bullet that I took, it rewarded me with lives of three enemy soldiers.
Soldiers are habitual of pain, the word itself demeans them, and their work.
Their passion takes them forward with courage and a will which loudly echoes
the nation’s name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I believe I am different, with a thought process exclusive
from them. I remember the first time it struck my mind, perhaps isolation from the ones I long for, and the situations which I went through, I could the see the emotions,
disguised as travelers making their way far, dragging with each step, farther
away from me. Those were the thoughts once perceived by me, but being a
soldier, something so delicate seemed naive and was considered insignificant in the
realms of death, which we have to deal with, every single day.
With every bullet I fire<b>, I think about
my home. </b>I think about my family, the ones who belonged to me and the ones
I could call mine. The imagination takes me above in an open sky, where I meet
emotions such as <i>love and longing. </i>I ponder upon the time when my people would finally be with me. A
grave thought arises in my mind, a question which is unanswerable with time.
The expectations often end with grief. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I try to reason out my presence here at the border and my
absence at my home, among my people. “<i>I
cannot let my country die, I must protect it” </i>is what mind reflects back. “<i>But are the ones on the other side of the
border emotionless? Do they not miss their home, their family?” </i>I try to
argue with my mind or perhaps it was my heart who spoke from the realms of my
soul. The discussion continues every night, making my tired body live another
sleepless night. Before I could ever deduce the conclusion, the morning breaks
out and with it – the risking of life. It was just another day, I wanted to
reach my destination, but it looked as if something else was destined for me.
For long unknown hours in despondency, I would talk to myself, finding solace
in the darkness of life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could hear the heavy steps breaking into the chamber, it
was an alarm to rise up for the duties once again. There was chaos everywhere
and it seemed like a wishful thinking come alive. “<i>We have been attacked by a large number of soldiers and their army is
approaching the inner lands”. </i>I rise up like a mannequin, with no
expressions and as fixated as a dead body, preparing with arms, I look towards
the sky once more, it seems to dazzle as if it might cry anytime. The sun seems
to be setting, or maybe he wants to hide and doesn't want to be a witness to
the cruelty of the world, and sin we might do. I try listening to messages my
family had conveyed through winds, “<i>Come
home soon”</i>, they uttered. It seemed like a voice of my mother. I came back
to reality as the noises became intense. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rushing outside to see a swamp of people firing, with no
fear at all. You could see death lurking in their eyes, as if they want to
accept death with open arms. “<i>Was it my
destiny too?” </i>I questioned the empty air. My destiny was to reach home, but
it looks vague now. We are ordered to march ahead and face the enemy. It starts
to rain – I was right, the sky wanted to cry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was same this time, three bullets in all – one on the
chest, one below the elbow and one sneering through the heart. I was thankful
of not wearing the chest guard this time. I knew, it was my end. The
imaginations seemed to stop, because they’ll be reality now. With every ounce
of pain, I close my eyes and choose to surrender to my destiny. In the darkness
of death, I witnessed myself at home again. Probably it was for the goodbyes to
the family but this time – I was covered with a tri-colored flag, with medals
kept on me. Though I slept in eternal peace and returned with a motionless
figure, for the last time, </span><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">it felt good to be home again...</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Tanishq Sharma</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">♣♣♣</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Please take a moment to like and share this with your friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You may also love: <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/stalemate-chapter-1-queen-escapes.html" target="_blank">The Stalemate - Queen Escapes</a></span></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-83261815511190717792014-12-31T13:52:00.000+05:302015-01-01T12:14:05.189+05:30Remembering 2014 - My Detailed Life.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD14as0FwZMAnAAWV7nn6SqxpK7F6vPrAE5688EextBatau7zbSrKBr9CJQJVjMRdWeZh0QMyXB9eKK-HK_qlJvcDGEyKfa3qgXHomeXcG7MNCxc0UxwmMS2vvn85kMiAYtCSV6pypbpo/s1600/Insider+COT1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Quote" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD14as0FwZMAnAAWV7nn6SqxpK7F6vPrAE5688EextBatau7zbSrKBr9CJQJVjMRdWeZh0QMyXB9eKK-HK_qlJvcDGEyKfa3qgXHomeXcG7MNCxc0UxwmMS2vvn85kMiAYtCSV6pypbpo/s1600/Insider+COT1.png" height="150" title="Leonardo Da Vinci" width="200" /></a>Its been an year to remember, <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/">Captive Of Thoughts</a> entered into a much better phase. From a non-professional blogger, much keen to being updated as stories, poems, I designed it to look much more sophisticated, clean and simplified.<br />
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I did learn much more about Placement of advertisements along with the complete design, and the likeness of viewers/readers. Perhaps, what they say about food, does apply to our blogs too, "<i>You first eat with your eyes</i>".<br />
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With this, I did design what seems a simplistic blog design and I plan to continue this for a time and more! But there was more about this year, than any of the two behind, considering this blog. <b>Twenty-four posts this year. </b>Ten more than 2013, and Twenty more than 2012. It has been a great progress, and this might have not been possible if the people around me haven't supported, in every task. There are people, who supported me in every post and writing of mine, and I am really grateful of their act. Hopefully, there are much better posts coming in next year, following my completion of 12th standard, and, that also means, that there won't be any post on <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/">Captive Of Thoughts</a>, in next 4 months perhaps. Don't worry, it is often worth the wait.<br />
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But today, lets remember what we created all this year, and what people loved the most. In-case you missed any, now you may not! For, I bring you the best and the worst of 2014 at <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/">Captive Of Thoughts</a>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOt42U4dREcpkr96hJrDP__IEZSc_72YYKCxNWLch4b0nzm9Kc4Kl3n76ui3R9rKZzu8y2d4Gx8k32ZUiTcElEUzeV7T_2H5aGTLtEiayKZmHTc6RKxBSn64wS5qMZKFieMJZXNft69EI/s1600/Captive+Of+Thoughts-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Captive Of Thoughts - Year 2014" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOt42U4dREcpkr96hJrDP__IEZSc_72YYKCxNWLch4b0nzm9Kc4Kl3n76ui3R9rKZzu8y2d4Gx8k32ZUiTcElEUzeV7T_2H5aGTLtEiayKZmHTc6RKxBSn64wS5qMZKFieMJZXNft69EI/s1600/Captive+Of+Thoughts-cover.jpg" height="225" title="Captive Of Thoughts" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The year at <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/">Captive Of Thoughts.</a></td></tr>
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<li><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">January</b></li>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The year started with the story that was loved throughout the year. Named, "The Setting Sun", it talked about a person's heartbreak as he sat on a bench, looking at the horizon with a marriage card that did not belong to him. Perhaps, people connected a chord with it, and it stayed at number 1 ranking for record-6 months. The other post in this month was much of an monologue of me expressing everything I felt at that time. The darkness seemed to express the light, in a much lighter way.</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/01/the-setting-sun-some-stories-are-better.html" target="_blank">The Setting Sun</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/01/in-search-of-solace.html" target="_blank">In Search Of Solace</a></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>March</b></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another edition in the story, which was well received by the readers. "Looking back..." was one such story, whose success mattered none to me, since it was written in pure joy and self satisfaction. I accepted a guest post in this month from Aashish Nehete in his post, "Belief, Hope and Faith" which talked about the different perspective to God, religion and our tentative faith, and behavior in it. The final post of this month coming as a tip to someone drowning when me-myself was under-water. Yes, the final post- "How to overcome stress?" was one such post. Fortunately, this remained on second most loved post for a long time.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/03/looking-back-in-his-eyes-she-knew-he.html" target="_blank">Looking back in his eyes, she knew he wasn't lying.</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/03/belief-hope-and-faith.html" target="_blank">Belief, Hope and Faith</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/03/howtoovercomestress.html" target="_blank">How to overcome stress? - A beautiful perspective.</a></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>April</b></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Its hard to believe that I wrote 8 posts this month. The biggest since this blog's inception. This month included some of the new elements to the blog, <b><u>Photography and Hindi Kavita.</u> </b>Starting with a new concept, the first post of the month was "<a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/04/jaise-rooth-gaye-ho-apne-humse.html" target="_blank">Jaise rooth gaye ho apne humse"</a>, which was again, well received by the audience. The posts following it were the photography posts titled, "The Art Of Tray". 3 Photography posts until I came up with the Story once again, this time, titled - "The Truth which lied in front of Me". Interesting story as quoted by reader, you should give it a try too. Another guest post which followed this month was by Pratham Agarwal, who beautifully wrote on - "Physical Appearance - Does it Matter?". The month ended with a story which is till this date renowned as the BEST STORY of Captive Of Thoughts. Shared, thousand more times and entered the top 5 in 4 hours of being posted, and never left from that spot. "As She Walked Away", was caught as the most touching, loved and versatile emotional story. There are many people who I need to thank, but this story being this famous makes it a reward for them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here, the links to the post of this month.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/04/as-she-walked-away-some-stories-are.html" target="_blank">As She Walked Away</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/p/the-art-of-tray.html" target="_blank">Photography - The Art Of Tray</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/04/physical-appearance-does-it-matter.html" target="_blank">Physical Appearance - Does it matter?</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/04/jaise-rooth-gaye-ho-apne-humse.html" target="_blank">Jaise rooth gaye ho apne humse</a></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>September</b></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The only post in September being "The Moonlight", a short paragraphed story. Much to the anticipation, it brought many loyal readers to our ship.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/09/the-moonlight-pinch-of-stories.html" target="_blank">The Moonlight - The Pinch Of Stories.</a></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>October</b></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nothing special in this month except for my birthday. Though we had 5 posts in this month, but 3 of them were the pictorial posts to the stories posted in the months before. The other significant things posted in this month were my picture Quotes. And yes, also a Diwali post for no pollution.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/10/tomorrow-is-too-late-be-happy.html" target="_blank">Tomorrow is too late to be Happy.</a></span></li>
<li><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/10/life-has-price-stories-in-two-lines.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Life has a price</span></a></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/10/do-us-favor-dont-light-crackers-this.html" target="_blank">Other ways to spend Diwali</a></span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>November</b></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">From this month, began the wait for the Online Series by Captive Of Thoughts, titled <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/stalemate-chapter-1-queen-escapes.html" target="_blank">The Stalemate.</a> A formal announcement that the Chapter 1 will be launched on 9th December 2014. And yes, people did wait for this. Thanks to all of them. The other post in this month was the Lost Desire.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/11/the-lost-desire-some-stories-are-better.html" target="_blank">The Lost Desire</a></span></li>
<li><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/11/the-lost-desire-some-stories-are-better.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">9th December - Are you ready?</span></a></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>December</b></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This was the month probably which I was waiting for. Chapter 1 from my online novel named, "<a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/stalemate-chapter-1-queen-escapes.html" target="_blank">The Stalemate</a>" was finally published. And much to my delight, everyone loved it, and how did I know it, its when they started inquiring about when is the chapter 2 launching. Felt, really good that time. Yes, the second chapter will be posted in April.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Grieving instances of this month, the Peshawar Attacks, no words could match their sorrow, but I tried inculcating, and saluting those mothers, in my poem - "<a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/mother-told-me-to-be-brave-boy.html" target="_blank">Mother Told Me To be a brave boy</a>". The poem went viral on the social media, but then, I never fancy celebrating such thing. The last post of the month was a guest post by Aashish Nehete again, "<a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/the-murder-victim-some-stories-are.html" target="_blank">The Murder Victim - Can you find out who?</a>". One heck of an interesting story by him. </span></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/stalemate-chapter-1-queen-escapes.html" target="_blank">The Stalemate - Queen Escapes (Chapter 1)</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/mother-told-me-to-be-brave-boy.html" target="_blank">Mother Told Me To Be A Brave Boy</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/the-murder-victim-some-stories-are.html" target="_blank">The Murder Victim - Can you find out who?</a></span></li>
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Its been an amazing year, and hope so, the next one continues to be. On this note, let me take an off for few months. Meet you after that. Thanks for the support.<br />
HAPPY NEW YEAR! :)</div>
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<a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/p/about-me-tanishq-sharma.html" target="_blank">Tanishq Sharma</a></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-16991337600169458642014-12-23T13:12:00.002+05:302014-12-24T10:25:34.959+05:30The Murder Victim - Some Stories Are Better Left Incomplete<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The cold sting shot up her spine. The sight of a dead body lying in a pool of thick red blood was enough to make her sick. The
fact that it was her rival didn't help either. Though she always hated her,
death made matters complicated. A human thinks clearer in these situation.
Moreover a teenager, with all those hormones swimming in the blood vessels, are
worst while dealing with these matters.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She gently pulled out the knife lodged in the deceased’s stomach. Touching the cold blade finally freed the subdued emotions in her heart and she let out a cry. A man rushed, then another and soon there were a handful of adults.</span>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The human possesses a judgmental character.
The one which leaps to conclusions at the sight of things and thinks that he is
the most right person in the room. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that
every man possess a will of evil towards his fellow humans. He is just always
under the impression that only he himself is right, unless someone agrees with
him, then they are right too along with himself. This self-proclaimed king of
human thus clouds himself from further truth and general opinion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The knife in her hand, the dead body on the
floor and the look of panic mistaken for hatred made matters worse for the
heroine of this story. In a few days she was a criminal in the eyes of the
public and some more days later, in the eyes of the law too, but I don’t think
that matters here.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The way she was talked about was truly
sorry for someone who knew the truth about the matters. Her, me and now everyone
who’s reading this. She was cursed, tortured (mentally) and traumatized. And a
fragile heart cannot bear these lies. Maybe because she had seen death before
or maybe because someone drove her towards this; her body readily accepted her
mind’s decision. She was no more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The truth is known to only a handful of
people. The spectators must rely on the trust they hold for any one of them and
assume that to be the truth, but is it always true what you think is right?
That’s it. We have got it. The truth is not what you feel is right or what
others feel.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After all of this if I’m to tell you that she did commit the murder. It’s possible because I started this narration after the murder had been already committed. Your facts are only true as much as I tell you but are mine true. In the end ask this question to yourself, who is the murder victim here?</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">We thank Aashish for taking out time and writing this short, but not sweet story for us! We look forward to have you on board, more than forever times. Cheers!<br />We thank <a href="http://www.alexa.com/" target="_blank">Alexa</a> <a href="http://blog.alexa.com/" target="_blank">(Blog)</a> for the ranking - We are now under top 25,000 websites of India.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">You might love them:-</span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/12/stalemate-chapter-1-queen-escapes.html" target="_blank">The Stalemate - Complexities of Marriage?</a></span></span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2013/12/a-king-only-bows-down-to-his-queen.html" target="_blank">The King Only Bows Down To His Queen</a></span></li>
</ul>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-84683230417116973592014-12-17T11:09:00.000+05:302014-12-23T15:23:06.125+05:30Mother told me to be a 'Brave Boy' - #PeshawarAttacks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Forgive my killers mother,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They surely do not understand,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What it feels to be human.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Forgive my killers mother,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They themselves haven't been,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A parent another soul.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Forgive my killers mother,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For they plead no guilty,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and they do not deserve to get one.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Forgive my killers mother,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For I'll meet my creator now,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He might have an answer.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Forgive my killers mother,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For they were in the dark,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Blinded by blood all over.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Forgive me as well mother,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For I could not return,<br />
To your voice uttering, "Come back home soon".</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You always told me to be a brave boy,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Today, I ask you to be a brave mother.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>#PeshawarAttacks</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEn-5SPY4g1UE8pTH55h_tyBRYrEEP2HQWl-KQm-jHUCGx8hnJYCqQsavBKSbfzuaPTiTCsZbAmkHmiZo20iB3nyHBew6K_8MDPt7qEvsYbHzeIilO0vOvD6zOfF0KPm9a1SIQxyYEfDeU/s1600/peshawar_356_2859_356.jpg" height="179" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.moneycontrol.com/" target="_blank">Image</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Tanishq Sharma </i><i>with, Editions provided by </i><i>Pratham Agarwal</i><br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Its dreadful, its painful, to realize this fact, that such acts, such horror comes out every turn of events.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Terrorism has no religion, It will never have, its about us working together to remove every bit of it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lets take a moment of silence, for the words seem to vague to express such grief.</div>
</div>
Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-80062465632905411942014-12-09T11:44:00.003+05:302014-12-11T15:09:01.994+05:30Stalemate: Chapter 1 - The Queen Escapes.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><i>"I wonder the limits of the skies above,<br />None too much than the skies inside,<br />I often find myself looking back in the past,<br />Its then, that I realize, I've been a good teacher to myself<br />- Tanishq Sharma"</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7ID2nMRBBma8YjBydS5fYkFbX_zvRvi92yKGVSjgpxkTsI0xxb8aAplYw6Am4zBBGnOyXI4GbcptY65MczcAE6iCTVPAQZNGqWUxvE3zWZMPt_6ItkrM196fS5_TUtmkFg-phc2qCfJR/s1600/Stalemate2.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/" target="_blank">Stalemate - Captive Of Thoughts</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
He refused to stay with her, and walked out of her house,
and her life simultaneously. But, it was his old habit – to fight, shout, abuse
and go out of the house and come back in the evening. Out of her life, she had
thrown him a long time ago but the roof, remained intact. She had adjusted to
that kind of living, she couldn't do anything to make the situation any better.
Perhaps, which wife does not want peace in her life, wherein she dreams of evening
walks with her husband or a blissful morning talk over a cup of tea? Dreams of
the support she presumes from her husband, when she tries to scold their
children, over a nasty result at school. These situations, form a crust of a
normal household every wife dreams of. But, it was something which was not
supposed to be a part of Natasha’s life. Within a span of 4 years of her
marital life, she was on the verge of ending it, or perhaps, merely accepting
the decision taken by her husband.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was always a joyful girl, among the brighter ones in her
academic life. Being raised up in a middle class Indian family, she was taught
to respect family values more than anything. It was, therefore that she did,
all she could to save her marriage, to remain in the boat which sailed with the
winds which she herself would have never accepted to be felt. She endured, she
learned, but everything has a threshold. Sooner or later, it all seemed coming.
It was an arranged marriage, one which is done at a risk of allowing each other
to understand oneself, and moreover, to adapt to the situations they will be
contracted in. It was as comfortable as a breeze in the first year, but things
started to break down there after. Call it the misunderstandings in her in-laws
or the mutual bonding never rising above the bar of insecurities, whatever it
was, it lead them to a place where they never wanted to end up at.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If there wouldn't have been a reason, she would have left
this home a long ago. It was not because she didn't want to make things right,
but because continuous tries of making it better had taken up all her energy,
all her compromises in vain. If she was still here, enduring the pain, her
non-interested husband gave her, it was because of the same voice, which
clutched her suit from below, and nudged her asking, “<i>Mummy, papa kahan gaye?”. </i>Her three year old daughter had asked
with utter silence following her words. Those quiet and childish words had looked Natasha straight
into her eyes, which then traveled deep into her soul, asking her various
questions about why had she landed up in such a situation, and why is her
daughter being punished for the same, for the mistakes they were making. If
there was something she could convey to her daughter, it was mere silence. It
conveyed messages to her daughter, the ones she couldn't convey, with her words. Her
daughter, without asking anything more, went to carry off her own tasks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Standing there still, in a position and looking at her
daughter, she knew something had to be done. A strong step out of the fears
might end up improving lives of just not one, but many people around her. In
the numb state, which now seemed homely to her, she dialed a number, <b>‘<i>Advocate
Amish Shukla’, </i></b>her mobile displayed. “<i>I want to file a divorce case</i>”, she said. Her daughter heard, but
could not comprehend it. Natasha didn't make an effort to explain her.<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
♣○♣○♣</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had befriended time, not only because she habituated the
change in which it travels, but because it had seen the tears she had shed, the
smiles which struggled through tough times. It was also a spectator when a gist
of happiness came in her life – her daughter, Neha. It was a time of life when
worries weren't a part of scheme she had opted for. Probably, time had also
witnessed her endurance of married life, and the pains she had gone through.
Perfect for befriending, it was now covering up the wounds inflicted by the
battle, she had long fought back. There were countless moments, when she was
silenced by her own voice asking her various questions. One such day, Neha came
home crying. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Natasha hurrying towards her, worried that she might be hurt, asked her, “What
happened <i>beta?”<br />
</i>Neha refused to answer, and to eat. Upon asking her several times, she
opened up. “Today, my friends were talking about their fathers, about the gifts
they receive from their dad, about their family picnics, <i>Mummy</i>, why don’t I have a daddy like them?” It was an innocent question from someone who had less knowledge of the
world which resided outside her six years of experience. Natasha repeated
what she always said, “<i>Aapko mumma ne
bola tha na, papa ache nahi the, toh mumma ne unhe apni gudiya se bahut door
bhej diya</i>”. There is something about pain, it strikes you back when you are
the weakest. It was something which was easy to feed to a six year old, but
deep inside their bonds <b>– </b>both
the generations realized, it was a fact, they had to accept<b>. </b>With
eyes reflecting the silence of still water, Neha went to complete her school’s
work.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was often, that Natasha had to overcome situations such
as this one. Situations like, when she was called in for Neha’s parent teacher
meeting – but always turned up alone, without her husband. No one notices much,
but the tender hearted Neha, must have asked million questions so as to why it
had to be her. Who can explain a heart as soft as hers, that it was something
which fate decides, because it doesn’t see circumstances, situations and the
life which is left behind? The hardest part of all was the occasions when Neha
might overhear her aunt talking about her mother’s <i>someone. </i>And, without much words, would understand, that it was the
same one, who was not good, and was sent very far away from her – her father.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Natasha was a businesswoman, who had started most of her
work after her divorce, with some help of her contacts. With time, she
understood, that it was not Neha whom she had to take care of, but it was she herself,
as Neha complimented her mother’s sadness with a rainbow of joy. For Natasha,
her daughter was everything. A reason why she woke up every morning, reason why
she worked, took all the pain, and was still alive. The mornings had started to
bring back their gleam of happiness, and nights retreated with their treasured
stories. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Evening had dawned upon, Neha was busy painting her artworks
while Natasha prepared the evening meal with her domestic help discussing household
issues. It is something – irrelevant of age, culture, or profession, every woman
discusses. Neha, with her face as bright as the morning sun – came running
towards her mother and showed her, her little creation. Standing vividly in a
center of the picture, were figures of a man, a woman, and a little girl. The
imagination conveyed a simple message, it was a family.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What fumed in Natasha’s
conscious, no one might ever know but she tore the drawing apart, and shouted
on Neha for drawing such a thing. Her words, loud and clear echoed twice in
Neha’s ears, “<i>Your father is dead, he is
no more – do not ever think about him. Others might have theirs’, but you
don’t. You only have your Mumma, and that is enough.” </i>Neha had uninvited
tears. She ran down to the living room, to hide her tears like every time. The
land-line, placed in the room rang. Neha, went to pick it up. “Hello”, said the cute
little voice of Neha. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It looked like there was no explanation needed when Neha
heard the voice from the other side of the receiver, a voice coming from a place
very far, a place called past, as the manly voice replied, “<i>Beta aap kaise
ho</i>?”.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>to be continued...</i><br />
<b>Tanishq Sharma</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~♣♣♣~</div>
<br />
Thank you for reading, it surely does mean a lot. There are too many people for me to thank, they know who they are. Please take a moment to share the story, it will be appreciated.It gives us motivation to write more, and better. The chapter 2 will be announced soon, until then keep reading. Once again, a big appreciation for taking out time, and reading it.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-64688548733808374722014-11-27T10:01:00.001+05:302014-12-07T22:45:41.925+05:30The Lost Desire - Some stories are better left incomplete...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He was in a process of decline, the one which felicitates isolation from the world. Call it the stress at job, or the lack of passion which interpreted in every sphere of his life. It had been 3 years to the day they tied the knot, and the morning following that night was something they would never forget, he had made a breakfast for her. In a span of few minutes which had measured few years along, everything seemed complete. Yet, every morning today, all they do, is to execute the mutual exclusiveness of formality over a cup of caffeine, which they had stopped choosing, they were content with whatever being served.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The mornings passed as the dew drops falling off a leaf to which it no more belonged. The afternoons were the time they indulged in their work, evenings were spent in travelling and the nights in depression.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was a tiring winter day, a season where even the sweat of hard work chills you down with cold. Sitting on the coffee table, waiting for his daily charge of caffeine, he seemed puzzled with thoughts. There, he sees Natasha bringing his coffee, and just like the previous days admires her, looking at her in daze, in an adorable way, just as she approaches him, she is struck with the presence of a wooden plank on the floor, and the absence of the very same thing from her eyes. She tumbles down. Rajat runs towards her witnessing it, and asks her whether she is fine or not. "<i>I cannot walk, my foot hurts</i>", she said. Rajat knew what was to be done, he picker her up and carried her to the room.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">He isolated from her, or vice-versa - they could never come to the conclusion. They still loved each other, the things were perfect just like how it were that morning, but something seemed to lack. Both knew the answer, but none of them ever question. It was passion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are stages of life when you have to steps which decide you immediate future, and as well as the one which eventually settles down in coming years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In those 20 seconds of travels, he had a ride which belonged to his past, to his beloved marriage, and the comfort ability which they shared, seemed to return to its <i>not-</i>so frivolous state. The <i>20 seconds </i>had taught him the value of someone's presence, and her - the value of him. There was a smile, and a blush which rose on each face. He admired her the whole day, taking care of her foot. <b>They had brought back the old touch, touch of love, touch of inspire, a touch which makes them feel loved, a touch with sparks of life</b>. It was a cold night, and a longer one than usual.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The morning was reminisce to the past, which Natasha fondly remembered - "<i>Good Morning", </i>said Rajat, bringing a cup of coffee and French toast to serve with.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tanishq Sharma</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #464646; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">Please do not forget to share the story . </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mmBnQjI6sMS4LfUfd0_hjIJnOczhvy-ecWbqvmz_Hr2hQE9wje5G-FBat8Mvt6cFHaIYuiT_PKmbGBwX5KmcJFMsaOJwQlWV3GzKfO8J4HlcRS4H1n8vuEQy_kwLxfLFYDatPVcCIP8/s1600/hug-7-sr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mmBnQjI6sMS4LfUfd0_hjIJnOczhvy-ecWbqvmz_Hr2hQE9wje5G-FBat8Mvt6cFHaIYuiT_PKmbGBwX5KmcJFMsaOJwQlWV3GzKfO8J4HlcRS4H1n8vuEQy_kwLxfLFYDatPVcCIP8/s1600/hug-7-sr.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #464646; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 13.9099998474121px;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">Note : </i><i>This post was written for a competition on my second channel </i><a href="http://pixelatedcam.blogspot.in/" target="_blank">PixelatedCam</a>. You can check it <a href="http://pixelatedcam.blogspot.in/2014/11/the-lost-desire-bringbackthetouch.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></span></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-62182529720882072352014-11-11T14:30:00.000+05:302014-11-17T15:28:21.101+05:309th December 2014 - Are you ready?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There are times when you have to take big steps in your life - they allow you to reach a new summit. </div>
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Until now, I have written 6 stories with each one getting a huge audience to entertain. They have delivered pain, they have soaked emotions, and at the same time - they have been the shoulders of many crying eyes. To take the journey ahead - on a path, way different than the one we have been travelling up until now, We introduce a web-series of a short story. Yes - an Online Novel with Chapters being published as the time goes on.</div>
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We, welcome, you to join us on our journey with emotion, love, hatred and reality. Watch out - as the first chapter goes live on <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/">Captive Of Thoughts</a> on 9th December 2014.</div>
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<a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvfErlVwCaxdvHbJvbZcvBccQmv7invHw_f1DfrwqiS9Y_Re3UM28hZ8EWbZ7GJl5r2lDfbTCjjmjSQWAXtVQvHmfQ5ut8ZGN6KbzxEzbv20p6_hmrsBf8PNzGd4BrMb26IiiUQgm8Y34/s1600/Promotions+for+the+web+series.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Will leave you to decide -<a href="https://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=CaptiveOfThoughts&loc=en_US"> Register for the series here.</a></div>
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Thank-you, if you do register, it will be a big favor, because for a writer - his story being read is one of the greatest pleasure, he can receive.</div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Tanishq Sharma</b></span></i></div>
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</div>Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-61735342730615313082014-10-29T00:02:00.002+05:302014-10-29T00:02:58.607+05:30As She Walked Away! - Pictorial<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>One of the most loved, shared, and appreciated story of this blog. Thanks for all the love. </i></b></div>
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<b><i>Here is a throwback!</i></b></div>
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<a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/04/as-she-walked-away-some-stories-are.html">As She Walked Away!</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-170W9Pa1DVrahgRgK3eGpOHJwIuuHPTK2lDp6qWxtQkg7nGKJB7IsPDOQFnV2b4XqElcsquowH727jZ4MTf2Lk8pzOOyBvme8yadMZmj5oo3MFFR0S2Qj4ckK2TqKyNJDXG9iAmXQb3d/s1600/As+she+walked+away.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-170W9Pa1DVrahgRgK3eGpOHJwIuuHPTK2lDp6qWxtQkg7nGKJB7IsPDOQFnV2b4XqElcsquowH727jZ4MTf2Lk8pzOOyBvme8yadMZmj5oo3MFFR0S2Qj4ckK2TqKyNJDXG9iAmXQb3d/s1600/As+she+walked+away.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here, a little context:-</div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px; text-align: left;">You can only relate to the pain if you have already been through it. The </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: left;">shortness of breath </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px; text-align: left;">which seizes to be under your control, the wandering thoughts which wanders the empty tracks of past, now seems to be exhausted, decaying and eventually dying. I wanted to stop her, I wanted to refuse when she asked me to leave her, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px; text-align: left;">but </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px; text-align: left;">I could not. I did not utter a single word, as if </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: left;">the mind</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px; text-align: left;"> had stopped thinking and the heart beats left their track.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/04/as-she-walked-away-some-stories-are.html">Continue reading...</a></span></i></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-13817832488822347512014-10-26T21:08:00.000+05:302014-10-26T21:08:02.388+05:30In Search Of Solace - Pictorial.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>In Search Of Solace... </i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/01/in-search-of-solace.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7BLfEeIoLACi1f0TET5Twp62ShlxIAvVjq9IaiUdegxQ0-HcV4hp9G4tjN8tTPjZME7Y5rPJ-9DYL1KUXtrn6K5EZY2XLLAxCbF1GJSr3YtLLvY7cS2wCV-VmlBDYAofBGwg4SZMrcXF/s1600/In+search+of+solace.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/01/in-search-of-solace.html">Read here</a></i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px;"><b><i>The cold winds blow carrying the shivers of people with whom it traveled.The winds brought with them, cries of silence and the voices unheard.They conveyed messages of the ones who were unable to meet.Their growls bring the tune into the solace I try finding in silence of the dark. <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2014/01/in-search-of-solace.html"><span style="color: red;">Continue reading...</span></a></i></b></span></div>
Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-6664668051453835612014-10-18T18:41:00.001+05:302014-10-18T18:41:22.793+05:30Do us a favor - Don't light crackers this Diwali.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>If you can, do us a favor - don't light crackers this <i>Diwali</i>. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3EbXshdMPVsbAGm062Dp5a6F-5yT7FPEoXDvgl9PBj9k-yu1J9XmLteLOvLB5l1Pg4mpX3o0qsvFfurSbrvTb8B4pHiq7XRv_9TPXUJPwBss7cfm_BZNo4jssADGEnT0qZuHL6oERScxm/s1600/Diwali+post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3EbXshdMPVsbAGm062Dp5a6F-5yT7FPEoXDvgl9PBj9k-yu1J9XmLteLOvLB5l1Pg4mpX3o0qsvFfurSbrvTb8B4pHiq7XRv_9TPXUJPwBss7cfm_BZNo4jssADGEnT0qZuHL6oERScxm/s1600/Diwali+post.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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With every blast above in the sky, there is a living creature which dies, an unnatural, tortured and a painful death. The feast to your eyes, declines future, a couple of steps forward. I am not going to tell you the harms of air pollution, we aren't kids to not understand that, instead I ll tell you a better way out of it.</div>
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So, what are the alternatives to celebrate <i>Diwali </i>with firecrackers you may ask? Beware! I am ready with the points.</div>
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<li><b><u>Rangoli Making!<br /></u></b>Show your artistry in making some beautiful Rangolis! Have a competition in your neighborhood about the same, because it is certainly better than showing off your richness in making the sky glow. Better leave that for moon.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIJ87-WR20YOVwVr7CcGsdim29RcV20IEk9AUpGyoYSJqnjVYhv_oopZgYJikqYx3P4iRSvOINDP36CxnB_lI88-9esD9C6M9pb3Fg3uiI1H-p7TeAlIU0MgCB-CK_a9C-o5Q5SHQ7D2A/s1600/Cot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIJ87-WR20YOVwVr7CcGsdim29RcV20IEk9AUpGyoYSJqnjVYhv_oopZgYJikqYx3P4iRSvOINDP36CxnB_lI88-9esD9C6M9pb3Fg3uiI1H-p7TeAlIU0MgCB-CK_a9C-o5Q5SHQ7D2A/s1600/Cot.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<li><b><u>Diwali Feast!</u></b><br />Your eyes have had too much, its time for big meals to make way to your stomach. So have big feasts with your big-big families.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_W4_vyA78QGLcdlBPvjrb1EtYjIi2YYYjbgIEW2xj9YTMtvwQN-9t2MNT5EBVkr8TdOLM2wR-dD-BWuqRPKWefdD3jtoTDiaIg_UIQOvdk8n3f5IMcydpU-48y6-3VPrtMx68uL-8d-Le/s1600/ct2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_W4_vyA78QGLcdlBPvjrb1EtYjIi2YYYjbgIEW2xj9YTMtvwQN-9t2MNT5EBVkr8TdOLM2wR-dD-BWuqRPKWefdD3jtoTDiaIg_UIQOvdk8n3f5IMcydpU-48y6-3VPrtMx68uL-8d-Le/s1600/ct2.jpeg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<li><b><u>Diwali Shopping!</u></b><br />Go for shopping! We, Indians love sale, don't we? Its time for the biggest sale in India<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNGGPwOdAeHIsT5odtceZn9-sFhB3I2qGaviY5P9PQ075XVKb-4TTWGlbwHgZm0EvG-tC_EPwXhcqTPOVC2TrDdgs7m47fsZPKnfN9GXkvQBXBSN3Ci00uzKPM8LTDqepkyMhAbQ6OP9KJ/s1600/Yebhi-Diwali-Sale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNGGPwOdAeHIsT5odtceZn9-sFhB3I2qGaviY5P9PQ075XVKb-4TTWGlbwHgZm0EvG-tC_EPwXhcqTPOVC2TrDdgs7m47fsZPKnfN9GXkvQBXBSN3Ci00uzKPM8LTDqepkyMhAbQ6OP9KJ/s1600/Yebhi-Diwali-Sale.jpg" height="162" width="400" /></a></div>
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<li><b><u>Diwali Sweets!</u></b><br />Sweets distribution, now who doesn't like that? A rhetorical question. There are so-oo-oo many varieties out there, from <i>kaju katli </i>to <i>atta majhi satakli, </i>there are just too many! Go out, try tasting them all.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbLd76TpSRU68iuDCxJp7FJcUJbfFPNK7bPUo1wsdIlzEDdrxHn9L42sL0Qa4R18BDI86z-pgpPE0wJWm-OZgo53pbEMQ3ZI_k4dhyNkzE9bhXfMXpLWUHpPSyfTGkSJz-SnDz75ztSI1/s1600/Diwali+Sugar+free+sweets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbLd76TpSRU68iuDCxJp7FJcUJbfFPNK7bPUo1wsdIlzEDdrxHn9L42sL0Qa4R18BDI86z-pgpPE0wJWm-OZgo53pbEMQ3ZI_k4dhyNkzE9bhXfMXpLWUHpPSyfTGkSJz-SnDz75ztSI1/s1600/Diwali+Sugar+free+sweets.jpg" height="305" width="400" /></a></div>
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<li><b>Diwali Promise!</b><br />This diwali, gift your loved ones happiness, with a promise of change, with a promise of developing into a better human being and killing the negativity inside you, just like how <i>Ramji finished ravana"</i>. And that is exactly why <i>Diwali </i>is celebrated in the first place.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96h1qn5B8DGHRrcODHm-FPuv9qgWYhvZTZBfOO0adGEQWlJO15LY9av0NNC_3pLpC-qi4NsIz8-FOAYu4NZd-aUBr44FC0okc57e20oHeEhZB7pdPTrSlTz-siEkbYjPBkffiD24geUap/s1600/639616-diwali.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></div>
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There are million other short activities which can be accomplished on this occasion. Try indulging in them, do not let your enjoyment cause harm to environment, to its people. Whatever you give to nature, it is going to give you back. Make sure, it is positivity which is traded every time. </div>
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On this note, have a beautiful Diwali.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WCRJBWyL28MeHDgJHYZSSY-p7tQ6QE33iMdaCZ5o0wPOBbAMp7m-Z1KhHRC9h7QIy0YdyOSqDpLjfwxAkKTdyJmUtnWBpdc3bC9BDEwrSZCZEaTEZYIbtmcAcgy2LwwgeGQu4xkNknX7/s1600/Diwali+Post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WCRJBWyL28MeHDgJHYZSSY-p7tQ6QE33iMdaCZ5o0wPOBbAMp7m-Z1KhHRC9h7QIy0YdyOSqDpLjfwxAkKTdyJmUtnWBpdc3bC9BDEwrSZCZEaTEZYIbtmcAcgy2LwwgeGQu4xkNknX7/s1600/Diwali+Post.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-88244062630318831762014-10-15T20:12:00.001+05:302014-10-15T20:12:56.472+05:30Life has a price - Stories In Two Lines.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Who says life doesn't come with a price tag? From birth till death, if there is something which remains constant, its the struggle and rate of flow of <i>Money..</i></div>
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-<b><i>Tanishq Sharma</i></b></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-64283577231712694842014-10-15T13:33:00.000+05:302014-10-15T13:37:49.869+05:30Tomorrow is too late to be Happy.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">If you want to live, live today. If you want to do something which makes you happy, gives you peace, do it today, because tomorrow will never come, no matter how close it seems .</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">Because tomorrow is too late to be happy.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">- <i> Tanishq Sharma</i></span></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-47591633199592935242014-09-16T23:37:00.000+05:302014-09-16T23:37:43.438+05:30The Moonlight - Pinch Of Stories!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Moonlight...</i></span></div>
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<i>He was standing outside, in the cold wind of a colder terrace. Much colder was his heart, that had been left alone, from whom the comfort of warmth had been stolen. There was a strange gleam in his eyes, perhaps the thoughts were shining through them. Or, it could be the moon smiling back at him.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mfbLlEMICsgpVVaXv2-LYfjKGKFAQgbgkDDEBs9gRjQRQmO6LaXuH5gBvf0AuiyOWF0Oh0JfFyrV134nZMCT3BEujxvDMCeZ94M98n25A98sSHTNsOVk9zHUI1_vsxkwhb_ogzJf0iCY/s1600/cot+post12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mfbLlEMICsgpVVaXv2-LYfjKGKFAQgbgkDDEBs9gRjQRQmO6LaXuH5gBvf0AuiyOWF0Oh0JfFyrV134nZMCT3BEujxvDMCeZ94M98n25A98sSHTNsOVk9zHUI1_vsxkwhb_ogzJf0iCY/s1600/cot+post12.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></a><i>He was silent, quiet as the flow of midnight water, the one which flows gallantly, filled with smoothness and vigor of a royal walk. The emotions sailed through his soul, body and were transmitted out, partly through his shining eyes, and partly by the tears which were flowing without sneaking attention.</i><br />
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<i>He stood against the pain, he believed that if pain has to come, then it may come quickly, because he has a life to live ahead, and dreams to achieve. Happiness to cherish, and sadness to cry upon. He had people to love, and people who loved, but, they were all gone, vanished like how a dream shatters every morning, leaving behind the amusements.</i><br />
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<i>She was the strength he needed, probably, the absence of her was the reason he fell. But they believed, and they promised, that when they go their separate paths, and look upon destiny and the memories they had shared together, they wouldn't want regression to be a part of it.</i></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-76045010699842170932014-04-24T16:14:00.000+05:302014-12-07T22:28:22.693+05:30As She Walked Away - Some stories are better left incomplete..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You can only relate to the pain if you have already been through it. The shortness of breath which seizes to be under your control, the wandering thoughts which wanders the empty tracks of past, now seems to be exhausted, decaying and eventually dying. I wanted to stop her, I wanted to refuse when she asked me to leave her, <i>but </i>I could not. I did not utter a single word, as if the mind had stopped thinking and the heart beats left their track.<br />
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She was standing in front of me, I wanted to say a lot, wanted to tell her to wait, and make her understand. She was everything I ever dreamt of and I could not afford to lose her. How could I? She would be losing a moment in her world, I was losing my world in that moment. I wanted to convey everything, but I stood there, conveying just my <i>silence.. </i>which was an approval of what she wanted.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjKh3ZQJrWewlZ61AVkyJl9CJAXd8Ub4lVwekGcZXMZIY3Y3rEcgdDBB4gDbih2H4ejAgaI419E3PBMRj8pp-_cvBac66YxCajFxet7JevLHd9wkbcehThcvLFui1EqXSiXNF1jNG4GtD/s1600/walking-away.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjKh3ZQJrWewlZ61AVkyJl9CJAXd8Ub4lVwekGcZXMZIY3Y3rEcgdDBB4gDbih2H4ejAgaI419E3PBMRj8pp-_cvBac66YxCajFxet7JevLHd9wkbcehThcvLFui1EqXSiXNF1jNG4GtD/s1600/walking-away.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a>I do not know why she wanted to leave me, I did love her, so did she. What were the mistakes? we both were perfect and everything seemed alright! There were some common truths to be spoken, but those things would have come to their terms slowly and gradually. It was just ten months, that we had been together. Ten months. I wanted to live ages with her, wanted to grow old with her.<br />
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She was the present I lived, and the future I thought, I never wanted her to be the past I'd remember. <i>But</i>.. often what we think, is not what happens. Maybe because we shape ourselves in that note, sometimes, we tend to think of every situation negatively, and sometimes, probably positive. None of which is true.<br />
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I had tried harder, tried a lot. There was no one to hear the shouts I screamed, there was no one to wipe the tears which flowed, deep down somewhere, in the soul. I was looking at her, she was looking at me. She had told her decision, I had quietly agreed in the state of being numb.<br />
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She was walking away. Leaving behind everything. The moments we shared, the joys we shared, the happiness of her share, and the tears too. She had given me all back, and was walking away. I could not call her, I could not tell her to wait, I was numb. How often in life, do we get into situations where everything happens very slowly yet you do not have any control on them. You just watch things happen and somewhere deep inside, gather strength to face the consequences. <i>Because</i>.. at that moment you do not have energy to fight the happenings and shape the consequences.<br />
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With every blank moment, she was going farther, farther away. Oh how I wish, I could gather some strength, walk up to her, hold her by arm and tell her that it is fine, we will do it. I love you and I won't let you go. But it was not to be.<br />
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And there she went, went away from the castles of dream I had constructed for her, from the palace of love, I had designed for her, beautiful as she was. She went without turning back, but I kept looking at her. She was plain beautiful, the same, when she walked into my life. She went, and the road now seemed empty. The dreams were broken, the palaces ruined. The hopes crushed, and the vision blurry...<br />
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Its been 8 years now, those moments do not leave me. She is now like a sweet memory which is stored somewhere deep inside me. A thought of her, once a day makes me alive, makes me happy. She came, she loved, and she went. It was as if a beautiful dream had come to an end, but her memories would always be with me. I had always wished her happiness, and it lied in leaving me, so how could I say no? Because there is no past tense in love,<i> its either you still do, or you never did.</i><br />
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<i><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/p/about-me-tanishq-sharma.html">Tanishq Sharma</a></i></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-81010053462190123232014-04-19T12:10:00.002+05:302014-04-19T12:10:38.328+05:30The Art Of Tray - Depiction Of God Shiva, Nataraj.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;">About Nataraj</b></div>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;">Nataraja</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;"> or </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;">Nataraj</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;">, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;">is a depiction of the god </span>Shiva<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;"> as the cosmic dancer who performs his divine dance to destroy a weary universe and make preparations for the god </span>Brahma<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;"> to start the process of creation.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px; text-align: start;">Source:Wikipedia</span></div>
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<i>(Click on the image to enlarge)</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1ISW38UByF8nAdYWlNOvhSuO9jYvIPMXWJVHQK9GJ-jlg9gqxjIXsNlYNMYddhQ3dw5wz1iJfhRrzJnPG5rW5R09QY4_Gf_7vIg7-rm-x7vPcrTuOkYD52NISXIF4_yifXGtIvOCH6Uy/s1600/IMG_2864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1ISW38UByF8nAdYWlNOvhSuO9jYvIPMXWJVHQK9GJ-jlg9gqxjIXsNlYNMYddhQ3dw5wz1iJfhRrzJnPG5rW5R09QY4_Gf_7vIg7-rm-x7vPcrTuOkYD52NISXIF4_yifXGtIvOCH6Uy/s1600/IMG_2864.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Clicked by- </i><i><a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/p/about-me-tanishq-sharma.html" target="_blank">Tanishq Sharma</a></i></div>
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Image subject to copyright. <br />For external use : <a href="mailto:info@captiveofthoughts.com">info@captiveofthoughts.com</a> / <a href="mailto:tanishq@captiveofthoughts.com">tanishq@captiveofthoughts.com</a></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-37173580693214650522014-04-17T21:55:00.002+05:302014-04-17T21:55:09.951+05:30Physical Appearance - Does It Matter?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Martin Luther King Jr. once said in his acclaimed '<i>I have a dream' </i>speech,<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">"</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the </span>color<span style="font-family: inherit;"> of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">" </span> </i></blockquote>
I think his dream still needs some doing, for today, if not by the color of one's skin, people are still judged everywhere, by their bodily characteristics.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDno9jEpyh5pbhNsUpr9D8wba4cIDiZx4QE7OhDPVH3wPd1nVgoTfzg5pcnaScPRICVTtxfaVeV_5x7HFXyPBEuwRomwFwMGxVW7F_R-mc5qcfGLs0CVPXOppQahr4OkGLqQ5VUpCduNH/s1600/Martin+Luther+King.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDno9jEpyh5pbhNsUpr9D8wba4cIDiZx4QE7OhDPVH3wPd1nVgoTfzg5pcnaScPRICVTtxfaVeV_5x7HFXyPBEuwRomwFwMGxVW7F_R-mc5qcfGLs0CVPXOppQahr4OkGLqQ5VUpCduNH/s1600/Martin+Luther+King.jpg" height="333" width="400" /></a></div>
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A person in true sense should be known by his deeds, skills, opinions and actions, for those are the<br />
factors that determine the outcome of one’s life. Although, in today’s age, physical appearance is<br />
what pleases the masses more than one’s entire being, deeds and accolades.<br /><br />
People judge you by your physical appearance more than what you really stand for. For instance, when the cricketing legend, the God himself, <i>Sachin Tendulkar</i> came around, they called him a little prick who got lucky and that he won’t last long enough. Where are those people who were trembling with confidence of their verdict back then? Giving their verdict on another ‘prick’, perhaps :).<br /><br />Family gatherings, classes, coaching, or be it public places, you are judged merely on the basis of your appearance. <br />Physical appearance is not something you work towards, it’s something bestowed upon you naturally and it shouldn't act as an impediment to further any cause in life, unless you’re a movie star. Even the quintessential movie star should exemplify scintillating stagecraft rather than just flaunting his/her body to no avail.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hZO_DUOwEgkQ-FzRZMKO_8d7wMiqJcYkN5S3hM2w7JhVh0MYziV45UEv_et9X5Z5g02M7q8E-6XTG9IGL0ZYSN2EVUSWcMcZsE21apJR1CRQXHa5X1d_mezGVabfTisTmYZWe19N3Q_P/s1600/quote+guest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hZO_DUOwEgkQ-FzRZMKO_8d7wMiqJcYkN5S3hM2w7JhVh0MYziV45UEv_et9X5Z5g02M7q8E-6XTG9IGL0ZYSN2EVUSWcMcZsE21apJR1CRQXHa5X1d_mezGVabfTisTmYZWe19N3Q_P/s1600/quote+guest.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />I am against this judgmental mind-set that most people exhibit, only to curb talent, and further an aesthetically pleasing person. It is rightly said that one shouldn't judge a book by its cover, then why judge a person solely on outward form? It is human psychology to find a person’s happy demeanor or aesthetics appealing.<br />
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Appearance can direct a person’s life! For instance, things happen differently for a beautiful woman than a plain one. Why can’t things transpire the way they ought to for everyone? <i>That’s a question we all can answer, not by our words, but by our actions.</i><br />
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<i>- Pratham Agarwal</i></div>
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<i style="background-color: white; color: #646464; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.790000915527344px; text-align: left;">Note : This post is written by <b>Pratham Agarwal</b></i><b style="background-color: white; color: #646464; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; line-height: 20.790000915527344px; text-align: left;"> </b><i style="background-color: white; color: #646464; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20.790000915527344px; text-align: left;"> as a guest post under <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/" style="color: #d1b177; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Captive Of Thoughts</a>.</i></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-25469164994201267812014-04-14T10:52:00.000+05:302014-04-22T10:20:56.842+05:30The truth which 'lied' in front of me - Some Stories Are Better Left Incomplete..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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She was lying on the bed. Helpless, weak and unable to move. Her face had turned white, which now matched the color of the clothing the hospital had provided her. I was looking at her, close and plain. I was holding her hand tightly, to tell her that I am still there. To tell her, I am still with you, I am holding on and you can fight the battle.</div>
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She wasn't listening to me, I knew. She did not know that I was around her or anyone for that matter. It had been 8 days since she was in coma, after the traumatic accident happened.<br />
It all happened in the blink of an eye, I can't blame her, it was not her mistake. It was the driver of that truck who had taken the wrong cut, out of the blue and she was left behind to face the consequences.<br />
Past 8 days, She hasn't got up, and I haven't slept. I could not. Something in me, does not allow me to sleep, does not allow me to eat, does not allow me to live. I want her alright, I want her okay, I want her to be the same as she was, joyful, loving, caring, and mine. She was always full of life, but probably, it was the only thing she was lacking right now.<br />
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I was not ready to accept the fact, accept the <i>truth</i> which <i>lied </i>in<i> </i>front of me.</div>
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I kept holding her tightly, maybe she needed it. Maybe she knew deep inside that I was there for her. I was holding her tight and right. That I was not letting her go away. That I am beside her as I always was and always will. Nothing could take her away from me, she was mine and I would not give up.</div>
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All I had done last 8 days was to talk to her, to look at her and to contemplate her beauty.</div>
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"<i>Aaj hum bahar khayenge. Okay Rahul?"</i>, She had told me while coming back from office that night.</div>
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I was there, on the phone. I had witnessed my love strangling, facing death.</div>
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How could I? I blamed myself. Maybe that night,If I would have picked her up from office and would have taken her somewhere, she would have been alright. How could I.</div>
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There were million things which ran through my mind, my body and my soul in last 8 days. My mind was exhausted, my feelings were exhausted and my soul, cried a song of defeat.</div>
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I cursed god, why her? She was my everything. Everything good that has happened to me. How could he be so cruel?. Maybe my answers were the silent hopes. I looked at her again, she was still numb, as the water in a silent pond. </div>
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I kept holding her hand. It was night time, probably another night when I will not sleep. I kept looking at her, talked to her, told her that everyone was missing her and she needs to get well soon. Everyone is planning a trip with her, and won't go without her, I told her.</div>
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With every word I said, a tear came out. I stopped it, I told it that nothing is going to happen. You don't need to flow. She is absolutely fine, she is mine and I will not let anything happen to her.</div>
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I kept my head at the side of her bed as I cried to no extent. Maybe my body had given up, and my soul was tired of crying, maybe no more tears were there inside of me. As I lay there, I could feel something tight in my hand!<br />
She was tightening her hold, making me feel assured that she is getting better. I got up suddenly, all my tiredness vanished and I felt happy at the same moment. She was responding finally, She was coming back. </div>
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It did not take much time, she opened her eyes. I could not believe myself. Tears of happiness flowed through my eyes, and I was speechless. She was looking at me, recognizing me. She cried as well, and I hugged her tightly. She had no strength, no might to show how she felt. Everything around me had stopped. There was a sense of complete happiness, when I saw her opening her eyes and giving me a small smile.</div>
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I got up to call the doctor, she caught my hand tightly. She had tightened her hold and did not allow me to call. I explained her but she refused. She removed the oxygen gas and sat up alright on the bed and hugged me. </div>
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She told me how much she loved me, she told me how much I mean to her. She told me everything she wanted to. I did not stop her, I was looking at her and crying as she did the same while speaking. I told her to calm down and told her we will talk when we back to home.</div>
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She kept quite. There was a strange silence. Something which did not feel familiar. </div>
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<i>"I do not have much time, love."</i>, She told. I asked her what is she saying and got angry on her for saying such a thing. She was alright now. She came close to me, and she fell in my arms and it seemed as if my life had fell to the death.</div>
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I woke up suddenly, from the bedside I had kept my head on while crying for her. She lay there on the bed, as she did from last 8 days but this time, probably it was forever... <b>I had lost her. </b>I realized, It was all over for me, for life and everything to come in it as she lied there, sleeping forever...</div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-63629304484420924902014-04-13T21:14:00.000+05:302014-04-13T21:30:07.294+05:30The Art Of Tray - In the midst of Worship.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><i>“It was not intended as a compliment. It was a confession. Now that I have made it, something seems to have gone out of me. Perhaps one should never put one's worship into words.”</i> </span></div>
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<i style="background-color: transparent; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">― </span>Oscar Wilde</i></div>
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(Click on the image to have a full look)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clicked By Tanishq Sharma.</td></tr>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-36775600573741605212014-04-12T14:46:00.000+05:302014-04-12T14:47:58.362+05:30The Art Of Tray - There is we alone, and I together.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>The darkness now seems to be withdrawn, from the ruins once shattered.<br />I stand at the summit of depth, holding strong the hope, and believe in my eyes, wide.<br />Appreciations won't matter to me, as long as I do not satisfy myself.<br />There are dreams to be fulfilled, there are voices to be heard.<br />There are tears to be cried and laughter to be heard.<br /><b>There is we alone, and I together</b>. :)</i></div>
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<i>(Click on the image to enlarge)</i></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-28236918761263093792014-04-10T22:02:00.000+05:302014-04-10T22:02:50.806+05:30The Art Of Tray - Global Vipassana Pagoda<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Here to the new section under Captive Of Thoughts! - <i>The Art Tray</i></b></div>
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<b><i>"Attitudes are mirrors of the mind, they reflect thinking."</i></b></blockquote>
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The picture is clicked at <b>Global Vipassana Pagoda, </b>Gorai, Mumbai.</div>
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Something about Global Vipassana Pagoda</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: start;">The center of the Global Vipassana Pagoda contains the world's largest stone dome built without any supporting pillars. The height of the dome is approximately 29 metres, while the height of the building is 96.12 meters, which is twice the size of the previously largest hollow stone monument in the world, the </span>Gol Gumbaz<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: start;"> Dome in </span>Bijapur<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: start;">, India.</span></span></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-27790958534456565902014-04-02T18:07:00.000+05:302014-04-02T18:07:17.935+05:30Jaise rooth gaye ho apne humse - जैसे रूठ गए हो हमारे हमसे <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Hai dhundhta woh andhero mein roshni aise,</i><i> Ho gayi hai ghum, haathon se lakire jaise...</i></blockquote>
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Kuch puchti hai ye tanhai humse </div>
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Kuch gungunati ye gherai humse </div>
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Hai lekin khamosh hum </div>
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Jaise rooth gaye ho shabd humse<br />
<u><b>Jaise rooth gaye ho apne humse</b></u></div>
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Hai nazron mein laakh sapne saja rakhe </div>
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Hai khwaisho mein laakh umeeda daba rakhi </div>
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Hai lekin khamosh hum</div>
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Jaise rooth gaye ho sapne humne<br />
<u><b>Jaise rooth gaye ho apne humse</b></u><br />
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-23253170333418249032014-03-24T20:09:00.002+05:302014-03-24T21:31:52.570+05:30How to overcome stress? - A beautiful perspective towards problems.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strike>It doesn't hurt.</strike> No, accept it. It hurts. </h4>
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I often ask myself, how to cope up with different things in life and every time I get a different answer.<br />
There are lot many things going around<span style="color: red;"> </span>to handle. The competition in the society is increasing at a pace faster than talent. In this rat race, it becomes inevitable to close your eyes and have a peaceful sleep. All your mind wanders around, is the mediocrity of your being, of your talents or the heaps of your failures. It is frustrating and probably that's the same reason you are here, reading this.<br />
Here I am listing some points which help me cope up with everything on daily basis.<br />
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<li><u><b>Talk to Yourself </b></u>- You are the one facing the problem. The pain is being inflicted on you. You know how much it pains. You know things about your problems that no one will ever know. Only you know what you have left behind in order to stand where you are standing now. Only you know your sacrifices. If the problems are with you, always remember, the solutions are also with you. And who else better than yourself, can teach you that?</li>
<li><b><u>Go deep down to your problems </u>- </b>One thing which significantly helps me to reduce the tension and eventually solve problem is this technique. There is no point crying over the spilt milk. Things once done can't be undone. You need to realize some facts in order to find their solutions. No, I am not talking about moving on. Instead, I am against it. There is a saying, <i>Cry as much as you can for the pain inflicted on you, but make sure, once you stop crying, you never cry for the same reason again.</i> Yes exactly, If you go deep down to your problems, sure as hell, it will hurt you. Maybe way more than it did previously. But your unanswered questions will surely be answered.</li>
<li><b><u>Investigate your pain</u> -</b> What are the exact reasons of your pain? Ever pondered on that? What is the reason it's hurting you? 10 years from now, will they still matter? Or make it 5. Will the things you are crying for, will hold a significant place in your life? Or probably, are they worth crying for?<br />Do ask these questions to yourself, because when you get their answers, you ll realize how beautifully you were fooling yourself.</li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">Divert yourself until its the right time</u> - Certain times in life, you step into situations which are too hard to be solved, or too complex to be understood. The best you can do in those times is to get away from all the negativity to let your positive thoughts flow. How to do that? Do something which you like. Watch some comedy videos. Or draw, dance, sing or whatever you are good at.<br />Because, not only it gives you confidence by doing things you are good at but it also allows you to see your life through a different perspective.</li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">Talk to someone</u> - There is always a person who wants the best for you, be it your father, your mother, your sister, your brother, your best friend, anyone or probably everyone above. You need to share your heart out, not only to talk to them about your sorrows but also to lighten the weight you have been carrying for so long. They may not give you the best advice, but it always feels good to know that you aren't alone. That somebody is there to stand with you. That somebody has faith in you, and hopes best for you.<br /><i>Do read the note at the end of this article.</i></li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">Let it go</u> - And even after talking to yourself, going deep into your problems, investigating your pain, diverting your mind, or talking to someone doesn't help, then Let it go, mate. Many a times in life, we lose things. When we are a child, we cry for broken toys, when we grow up, we cry for broken dreams, and when we are finally dying, we itself cry for breaking up this life. So let it go, there are too many things in this life to be happy about. There is always a person who wants to see you happy, and if you are lucky, there are two, three and many. Learn to let go, at the end, we will die with nothing to ourselves, what we do in this world, would ultimately not matter, at least to us from above.</li>
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That is all mate, be happy. It is a short beautiful life. No need to take too much tension. I agree that there is lot of competition in this world, but at the end of the day, it all comes down to how better you have been than one you were yesterday :)</div>
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<i><b>Tanishq Sharma</b></i></div>
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<i>Many a times we hide our pain, sorrow and tears somewhere deep down within us, somewhere so deep that we eventually forget about it. That things, starts to fill us with bitterness from inside. To kill us, a slow poison. It happens because many a times, you don't have someone to talk to. At Captive Of Thoughts, We do not want anyone to go through this, we are here listening to you. To your problems. We do not want to know your name, it is absolutely okay if you want to keep yourself anonymous and just share your pain with us. Because, believe us, when we say we are listening, cause we are. Come - <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/p/talk-to-us-new-initiative.html" target="_blank">Talk to us</a> (Keep on this to tell us your problems, we will keep it anonymous.)</i></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-89824763931428681762014-03-22T10:39:00.000+05:302014-04-17T17:35:19.773+05:30Belief, Hope and Faith<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Belief.</b> It is the strongest word found in the dictionary. The strongest weapon mankind has ever had, will ever have. The problem is just that, no one sees the potential in it. Whole regimes can fall, if we just believe.<br />
<br />
Well, I must say, people did believed once upon a time, although it is lost now. This belief led rise to superstitions. Some may argue that superstitions are bad for the progress of the society while some would say that superstitions are their whole life. Well, all of them are actually half right. The need of belief in one’s life cannot be completely eradicated and thus it is right, while on the other hand, one cannot let these blind superstitions dictate their life and thus this is also correct. The Man, is filled with imperfection. You give him something good, he will use it to such an extent that it will no longer be good. Man, the word <b>Evil</b> explained in one word. The same thing happened with superstitions.<br />
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There is this little weird thing I have got going. En route to my school every day I see this advertising hoarding. Nothing great about it, just a normal advertisement, but every day I make it a point to see the hoarding. I believe that seeing this hoarding will make my day go well and by chance if I miss it, it will go bad. Now you must be thinking that what is the connection between my life and the hoarding? There’s none, but the belief that I’m going to having a nice day is then planted in my mind. The correct words here are <b>Hope</b> and <b>Faith</b>. Seeing the hoarding makes me stop thinking about the day. Everyday questions arise in one’s mind about how their day’s going to be, will it be nice? Would something bad happen to me? So many questions but no answers. This leads to stress and the day is spoilt anyways.<br />
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I’m an atheist but have no ill feelings towards people who follow religions. I just believe that the concept of God was created so that people will have Hope and Faith in their lives. So that they don’t have to worry about… well worry. When you believe in God, you believe that <i>He</i> will be there to support you during your hard times and will spin your lives. We just have to do one thing, enjoy. Over time, this concept remained intact but the point of view changed. Man started worrying that his life was placed in someone else’s hand. Fate has its own funny way, <u>the belief of God was so because Man should not worry, but after some time it was the cause of Man’s worry</u>. Like everything over time becomes obsolete and useless, so has this concept. It has created rifts between men that nothing else could do it. <b>And I for once understand this living in the diversity of India.</b><br />
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I’m not saying that Man should stop believing in God, but he should at least change his perspective. Rather than spending lakh’s of money on temples of God, one should spend it on the betterment of the less fortunate.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>I’m sure that no will change even reading this because we have and always will fear the God we are meant to love.</b></i></blockquote>
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<b>- Aashish Nehete</b></div>
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<i>Note : This post is written by </i><b style="font-style: italic;">Aashish Nehete </b><span style="font-style: italic;">of</span><b style="font-style: italic;"> </b><i><b><a href="http://www.ashnehete.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Just Emotions</a></b> as a guest post under <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/" target="_blank">Captive Of Thoughts</a>.</i></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-25456590617124844502014-03-02T00:04:00.001+05:302014-03-02T00:04:28.324+05:30Looking back in his eyes, She knew he wasn't lying - Some stories are better left incomplete...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was standing at the altar of pains and sorrows. Had to
choose between the two. They both meant the same. The life, had somehow been
the description of sadness and shallowness. In every word to define the meaning
of life, there seemed only another sigh. There was darkness, or it would be
more appropriate if I say, there was no light. There were tracks of life of
which he had to follow, but there was no fuel to carry on. There were skies
open enough to fly, but no platform to take off. The nights as black as the
short duration before the dawn, the only difference being, that there were no
dawns.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The silence cried loudly, the frail looking person glanced over a frailer
reflection in the mirror.<br />
The eyes stared back from the mirror, they seemed to convey a message. They
seemed to convey stories of lost battle, of battle which they never fought but
the scars as fresh as the dawn which never arrived. They told him to be strong,
to with-hold the ground he was standing. There seemed no might to stand at the
ground which was no more below him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he engrossed more in the reflection, he
could sense those million tears which ran across his cheeks. He could see the
spots they left and the image they created when they ran with proud all the way
from his eyes to somewhere in land beneath, the same land, which was no more
below him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He forced shut his eyes only to make things worse. The murk
after closing his eyes was way more suffocating than the one he saw before the
shutters were down. He traveled the minutes, seconds and moments he had lived
in last couple of months and years which now seemed ages old. Those months had
transformed into years and those years in those never ending decades. The
decades too, seemed a span way more than ten years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />As he traveled along the
time, he saw his mistakes, and regrets to the situations which still chokes his
ability to breath, with guilt of every decision he took. He can see the seed of
pain bow in the gardens of his life. He can witness how he stumbled upon his
every step and how, with every step came distances which were hard to be
measured by scales. He could hear the howls, the mighty shouts and observe his
thoughts diminishing with every destroyed expectation. There were feelings
which he did not express, some words which were always there inside of him and
wanted to come out. There were expressions he wanted to put in statements, and
the statements which changed his expressions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were million questions but the only answer was dull
silence which engrossed with it, the pains of past, the scars which seemed
un-healed even as the time progressed. He opened his eyes but it didn't make
any difference, his vision was as empty as the thoughts which arrived when he
closed his eyes. There were mistakes he made, and his mind was too numb to
count them. All he could perceive, was the moment it all started…<br />
<br />
He remembered the date well, 16<sup>th</sup> August 2013. The date which marked
the beginning of his end.<br />
Rains had passed, but it was teary not just in the skies but also in the eyes
of two souls who had compromised their love. The skies were getting clear, but
it seemed as the clouds of darkness had halted in their lives. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To blame one
would be an insult to love they shared, they cared, they adored. He could
remember how beautifully they held hands strengthening each other. He could remember
how their hugs removed the negativity in their lives. He remembered every
little smile they shared, every little sunshine which enlightened their whole
day. He could not let her go, she was his everything. She didn't want him to
leave her, he was her everything. There were tears when they separated, there
were cries, there were shouts, explanations which were unheard and a mind which
conceived only the struggle they had gone through.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Came in his life when everything was worse than hell, she
gave him a heaven. Never in their dreams had they thought, that a time would come
when they won’t be together. But in their hearts stood a belief, a belief
strong enough to defy the problems and the situations causing their distance.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was an ordinary day. Till date, he could not find a
reason why she left him, why they grew apart. Was the love over or they did not
care about love anymore? They went through some harsh times, but it was never
meant to be this way. They always knew that they would come back from the dark
times together, that no matter what the condition was, they could make
everything better until unless they were together but Alas!, they were not
together. He did not leave her, she didn't leave him, but the love had left
them or they had hidden it somewhere deep inside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It doesn't happen in real life what happened to them. They
remained in contact even after they grew apart, they expected the love even
when they didn't commit.She still refreshed and charmed his life like no other can. He could still make
her blush like a beautiful rose shining in the light of sunlight, like the
beautiful first rays of the morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their eyes conveyed things which their words could not.<br />
They met for the last time, to decide onto their future, but where did they know
that it was the start to their new journey. They met casually, he asked her how
she was. There was no reply, there couldn't be. He knew she was not well, she
never was without him. She didn't ask back, because she already knew the
answer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They had met to clarify things, but it seemed a whole new lesson was
about to start. She looked him in the eyes, wide and clear, conveying the pain
he had given her. He looked back with the promise that he won’t be doing that
again. With a promise that he will protect her from every sorrow she
encounters.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She didn't wanted to fall weak, she declined him. He begged
her for the love, which they both knew was required to sustain them in this
world. They both knew how beautiful their journey was, and without each other,
there was no journey at all. But, she didn't wanted to fall weak.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He held her hand while they spoke nothing. He wanted to tell
her, that he would be their holding her in her ups and downs of life. He went
close to her, probably to tell her that he never leave her alone again. He hugged
her tightly and proofed her, how much he needed his soul back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking back in his eyes, she knew he was not lying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And since he was standing at the altar of pains and sorrow,
he chose immortality..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Tanishq Sharma</div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5573150547775009722.post-26616430223617714362014-01-31T16:57:00.003+05:302014-03-16T12:28:09.502+05:30The Setting Sun - Some stories are better left incomplete..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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He was watching the sunset, the sun going down. With every inch that sun moved down, his heart sank too. He could see the light fading, from the skies above and from the hopes inside. He could see the dust of defeat settling down in the realms of his heart.<br />
Today she was going. Going away, from his life, from his time, from his ways, and probably from his sight too. He could not do anything. He couldn't persuade her. He had tried. He went to her numerous times but he knew he was fighting a lost battle.<br />
It didn't had to turn up this way. He loved her. She loved him. Then why? Then how.<br />
Ironically, He had realized that the love was already in the past tense and he himself used the term, "<i>Loved</i>" instead of "<i>Love</i>".<br />
<br />
Lately, they had grown apart. To name a reason, there were many.<br />
<br />
It is very hard to give upon someone you have held for so long.<br />
When you wake up everyday and you aren't happy, that's the time things need to be changed. You wonder, whether to change the way you deal with things or to change the things you deal with. There is a stiff competition between your brain and heart. The former tells you to work for yourself, while the latter says<b> </b>that the actual happiness lies in working for the person you love.<br />
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He had tried everything. Maybe that was the difference, he wasn't trying anymore or maybe at this some point of time, you lose the courage, the energy and the hope to repair that mirror which reflected back an image of perfection. You can't even let go of someone like that, because from a tender age we are taught, when things don't work, we repair them, not replace them.<br />
When you see the mountain of relationship<b> </b>which was created from the base of love, from the core of hope and happiness and the peak of strength crumbling down, you don't find strength to keep that mountain intact. Because it had taken a lot of years to create those pillars of love.<br />
<br />
A wedding card was placed on his lap, as he kept staring at the sun which was already below the terminator. Everything in him had stopped, the heart beats as slow as the setting sun. The eyes transfixed at the bidding glares of the sun. What probably moved faster along with the flowing time were his tears.<br />
He couldn't do anything now, but what really hurt him was the fact that he didn't try harder enough when he could have.<br />
He looked up more vividly at the sky, the last rays of light were visible, He looked up for some strength, for some philosophy to tackle the deaths he had died by now.<br />
He knew, that it was time to move on. That it was time to move forward. What's done is done. And the only fact that gave him satisfaction was that now, she will be happy. Finally, she would overcome the pains he had given her and be happy with her new future. New life, where she would found the traces of lost hope again and start a long run of happiness all over again.<br />
<br />
There were many things to think about, many memories which surrounded him, his soul and his heart. There were tears still to be cried and pains which were still to be inflicted. But, right now he had to go. He took his phone and wrote a message. It was after a long time that he was going to message her, "<i>Congratulations.." </i>was all he wrote. He kept the phone inside the pocket and stood up to leave...<br />
<br />
He was leaving behind not just the memories, but also the tears they had shared. The love which was their now left behind wrapped in the wedding card which he left on the bench. He had told himself. He wanted to be strong. He had to be.<br />
<br />
Going away from the despair, away from inflicted pains and the path which he may never travel again, He looked back for the last time, and saw that sun was not visible anymore... the dusk had fallen.<br />
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- <b><i>Tanishq Sharma</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b>Also read : <a href="http://www.captiveofthoughts.com/2013/06/the-unfulfilled-promise-some-stories.html" target="_blank">The Unfulfilled Promise - Some Stories Are Better Left Incomplete</a></b></div>
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Tanishqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15922848622354039420noreply@blogger.com4