<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14716555</id><updated>2011-05-26T03:16:00.546-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Halcyonic</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Halcyon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11712323583677254604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tt0ymysYAzc/S2ZEmAnOUFI/AAAAAAAAGQE/iiSa-CloOsc/S220/DSC_0317.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14716555.post-115327810097679408</id><published>2006-07-18T22:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-18T23:01:40.990-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Does Truth Cost a Friend?</title><content type='html'>It was a usual weekend Sunday; I was still on my bed when the alarm loudly rang to still my beautiful dream @ 9 in the morning, the laziness from the previous day still overweighed me, the alarm stopped after a ten minute roar and made me realize that the day was just begun, but the witnesses were pale to prove that it was. Heard my mom shouting at me to get out of the room as the maid wanted to clean the room, with one eye still in deep sleep I got out and sat in the verandah sipping hot coffee and reading paper (Obviously BT). But the day was not as beautiful as my just had dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was about 12 when I was done with morning chores, then caught up with friends and jumped out of home to buy a hands free device (for the replacement of the one which I lost when was out to meet a special friend) for my age old small and cute cell. Peeped into foreign markets (markets had all local stuff, but only the names were foreign) hoping to get one which resembled the lost one, finally got one which was nowhere near to the one I had lostL, but it does not end there, my lonely heart had no resistance towards the tempting goggles (Already had bought an expensive one few days ago which looked like yester) around, finally bought not one but two of them to add up to the two I already had. We had a great time zipping through the tough roads (that was expected from the tough guyz). It was nearing the dusk and had to rush back home as mom had called up some twenty times and told me that she wanted me to take her out as she had to buy some stuff for home. We (the friends) were just starving there, thought we can cool ourselves down, had a strange menu in front of us at a road-side ice cream parlor, and I had to go for the strangest solid water I ever had… it was ‘Raco Baraco’, man I bet it was enough to fill two of my stomachsJ. Reached home after that in seconds as it was just a stone throw distance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still had one hour for myself before I took mom out, I was pinging my dear from morning whenever I could, but things were not as nice as it seemed, it just happened that my closest ever friend got me wrong, and I had to hear the silence which I never expected to happen. It all happened because I never lied to my friend, and hoped that a lie would make things bitter, so followed my own lane of truth and told that I wished to see my dear friend more than a friend, but only with approval. But the truth was not so supporting to me this time, it’s taken to the verge of losing a close and a dear friend of mine from me. The day still hasn’t had an end, Am still waiting for a word from my dear friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Does TRUTH cost a friend?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14716555-115327810097679408?l=timelssmoments.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/feeds/115327810097679408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14716555&amp;postID=115327810097679408' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default/115327810097679408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default/115327810097679408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/2006/07/does-truth-cost-friend.html' title='Does Truth Cost a Friend?'/><author><name>Halcyon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11712323583677254604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tt0ymysYAzc/S2ZEmAnOUFI/AAAAAAAAGQE/iiSa-CloOsc/S220/DSC_0317.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14716555.post-112254176000786418</id><published>2005-07-28T01:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-28T09:22:58.673-04:00</updated><title type='text'>MOTHER..!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/1600/Mom.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/1600/Mom.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 308px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 369px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="352" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/320/Mom.jpg" width="284" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;"Amma ennalu..yeno harushavu, namma baalige.. avale daivavu, amma ennalu ella marethevu, endoo kaanadaa sukhava kandevu..."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;(To say MOTHER, it feels good, she is d god to our lives, we forget everything when we call MOTHER, we see the HAPPINESS which we never see/saw!).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;I walk back in my memory lane, I was hardly 11 or 12 then and one fine day in my school everyone started to talk abt their emotions and feelings towards their mothers. I had to stroll for a while to understand whatz goin on arnd. I had always known Teacher's Day, Children's Day, etc., but never knew dat there was a day dedicated to MOTHER!. I was so happy that day and was back home early w/o playing wid my frens after school. I started a sweet little chat with my amma(mom). I asked her had she ever heard abt MOTHER'S DAY!, she listened to me and dinn reply for a while and got me a glass of milk. For a moment i thot she dinn know abt that, then came those words which made me feel lost within her.. these were the words&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;"After i became a mother, every day is Mother's Day".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;ME the fool always thought from my side, that was the day when i satrted thiinking from her side too. I had few questions for myself..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#99ff99;"&gt;"How many times can a Mothers heart be broken? How many tears can a Mother shed? How much love as yet unspoken Can never be said?".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;I recall a few words which i had come across years ago.. abt MOTHER!! .."Her baby's beautiful eyes only seek the goodness in people!, her touch can move the unmoveable". My mom keeps on repeating "When the kids are grown,life will be different. They'll leave our nest,and the house will be Quiet....and calm....and empty....and lonely....And I won't like that at all!And then I'll spend my time, not looking forward to SOMEDAY,but looking back at YESTERDAY ."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;Me feels dat she is d only person who can spread&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;SELF-LESS LOVE&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;A mother’s love begins before the child is born and lasts through time and difficulties and differences and many wounds and days of joy and days of sorrow, winding, wearing, eeping, sharing, changing until, at the end what remains is that solid core that began as love before the child was born. Her love is like the rush of life, a bubbling, laughing spring that runs through all like liquid light and makes the mountains sing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ccffff;"&gt;It is far beyond defining, it defies all explanation, and it still remains a secret like the mysteries of creation....A many splendoured miracle man cannot understand and another wondrous evidence of God's tender guiding hand. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;To a child's ear, "mother" is magic in any language. A mother's love is patient and forgiving when all others are forsaking, it never fails or falters, even though the heart is breaking! No gift to your mother can ever equal her gift to you - LIFE!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#99ffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Love you mom!!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14716555-112254176000786418?l=timelssmoments.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/feeds/112254176000786418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14716555&amp;postID=112254176000786418' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default/112254176000786418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default/112254176000786418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/2005/07/mother.html' title='MOTHER..!!!'/><author><name>Halcyon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11712323583677254604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tt0ymysYAzc/S2ZEmAnOUFI/AAAAAAAAGQE/iiSa-CloOsc/S220/DSC_0317.JPG'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14716555.post-112227686722697634</id><published>2005-07-25T03:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-25T06:11:36.716-04:00</updated><title type='text'>&lt;&lt;...fRoZeN fIRe...&gt;&gt;</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/1600/042320031.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/320/042320031.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/1600/04232003.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;Hi !!!&lt;br /&gt;How r u ? you never seem &lt;span style="color:#66ffff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;out&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; what u r &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#66ffff;"&gt;inside&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;… y is it so &lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;complicated&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; to know the &lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;simple&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; things……. Y should one think of something which never thinks of him/her…. Y are there many &lt;strong&gt;questions&lt;/strong&gt; which don’t have any &lt;strong&gt;answers&lt;/strong&gt;….. y is it that having everything makes us feel that we lose that something which makes everything….. y is it that we always want to know more about the things which we&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcccc;"&gt; know&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; rather than to know the &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcccc;"&gt;unknown&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;……….&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;I know that these are non-sense … y cant these be a senseful thoughts by a person who just keeps sailing in the ocean of mind in search of those words which &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;ends the journey&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. Y cant those &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc66;"&gt;virtual&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; things be the reflections of the &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc66;"&gt;original&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; ones, y cant one see the pictures of those who are no more……. Y is that the &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;face&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; has much value than the &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;ace&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; within him/her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;All this might seem a total bullshit… but has anyone ever thought that …. Thoughts are the ones which lead to a place where only a few &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#99ff99;"&gt;live&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; even after everything &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#99ff99;"&gt;vanishes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; about them… y cant one think of those places where only a few eyes went in search of those &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;words which were never heard to speak about the silence&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;……..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;For the one who is dumb, the whole world seems to be deaf and for the one who is deaf, the whole world seems to be dumb…. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;Y cant everyone live all the days of life? I just was thinking of those moments which I will never forget … and those are not my happy moments or sad moments and are also not those moments which I wanted something to happen…. Those were the moments wherein I waited… waited… waited… waited… to feel that there's that &lt;strong&gt;someone who is waiting for those moments which I can spend with.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;Its really hard to express those soft feelings that reside within us….. and that is because we can never be sure that the other person also cares for those and preserves it carefully that they never transform. The picture of &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ffff;"&gt;present&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; gets washed away to become &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;past&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;… and this is what the&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt; future&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; teaches..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;This introduces u that someone who resides in everyone in the world of a &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;halcyon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;….. please let me know …. Who is that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Note: This was base to one of my scripts which was written abt 2 yrs ago, titled same as the blog title .. The above is an original version without any edits!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14716555-112227686722697634?l=timelssmoments.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/feeds/112227686722697634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14716555&amp;postID=112227686722697634' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default/112227686722697634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default/112227686722697634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/2005/07/blog-post.html' title='&lt;&lt;...fRoZeN fIRe...&gt;&gt;'/><author><name>Halcyon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11712323583677254604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tt0ymysYAzc/S2ZEmAnOUFI/AAAAAAAAGQE/iiSa-CloOsc/S220/DSC_0317.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14716555.post-112201748214520310</id><published>2005-07-21T15:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-25T06:09:11.076-04:00</updated><title type='text'>...~ZYGOTE~...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/1600/sketch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/320/sketch.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1413/1341/1600/04232003.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hey guyz! this is my &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;first blog&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; ever, me out here to change d rulz of blogging(if any). For those who are hitting their thoughts abt the meaning of the blog title, it wud be rather easy if u had ever read a bit of human growth and development. If u havnt got it til now, just wait til d last lines of my blog. I wud bet dat u'l understand it b4 u go to those end lines(given u dnt miss even a single word til then).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all(a light that struck my brain to develop sores) started on the night, around half past eleven of &lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;21st July 2005&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;,&lt;/span&gt; where i was having a casual conference chat with one of my dear fren &lt;strong&gt;Mr. Raju&lt;/strong&gt;(sweetly called also as &lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;PP&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;for his extra ordinary talent in playing d flute, though i hv never heard him in real, heard a lot abt his prodigy) and strangely known &lt;strong&gt;Ms. MENSA&lt;/strong&gt; (gosh! i never knew dis word til i came to know &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;tuppu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;). The chat started rather in an unusual way, where both of dem werent active, so i was d only fool(i hv to agree) striking my words hard to hit dem, but they hadly did, as the chat continued, i got to know d reason for their inactivity in d conference (it opened all the doors to heal d sores in my brain). Ms.Mensa was busy in her blog page writing about the myths and miracles of the blend of hindustani and carnatic music she had experienced(the exact title of d blog cant b revealed as its copyrighted) and Mr. PP (Raju) was very busy in his yawns (i just guess so by his actions and reactions in the chat). The fact remains that both Mr. PP and Ms. Mensa were big time bloggers(jeeezz!! donno wht dey call guyz who keep blogging), i mean to say they had blogged a couple of times b4 and are very much interested in blogging.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This wont make any sense, me coming out of blues desperately to write here. The things begin to reveal now, as u might hv noticed by now dat me a guy wid avg (spoken or written) english, as my language origins from the blend of kannada and telugu(south indian languages) and i always had a thirst to write something creative which wud reflect my thoughts alike a &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;'pAINTED mIRROR'&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. At this time i was rather visualizing a mirage or my own thoughts before me. Am a person who thinks dat a writing is gud if it means instead of using the complexity of the language to decorate. The chat continues along side about the blogs and me just wandering with the mid night spirits around me. I never had an idea what a blog actually MEANS or rather conveys. I then made up my mind to go through few strange blogs which dinn make any sense rather had only few things to convey which didnt interest me to involve in dem. I always dreamt of adding a feather to my cap by doing something diffent apart from my strengths, i wud like to say i got an opportunity to prove the same.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally a blogger was born to represent me. For those who stil are wondering abt the title, it means the first stage of an &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffcc99;"&gt;Embryo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;(Place for a new life in the womb). I wish to grow heights which can only be possible by u r valuable suggestions and comments which will shape me up and polish my views, finally to give a master piece by a Halcyon!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About the conference, i quit dat one.. coz am here to make a &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#99ff99;"&gt;path of my own..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me starting wid a small one, u'l get to see more of me in the &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;coming TIMES!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14716555-112201748214520310?l=timelssmoments.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/feeds/112201748214520310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14716555&amp;postID=112201748214520310' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default/112201748214520310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14716555/posts/default/112201748214520310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://timelssmoments.blogspot.com/2005/07/zygote.html' title='...~ZYGOTE~...'/><author><name>Halcyon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11712323583677254604</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tt0ymysYAzc/S2ZEmAnOUFI/AAAAAAAAGQE/iiSa-CloOsc/S220/DSC_0317.JPG'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry></feed>
